


Scales & Silk

by sinnanasti, TheArtOfSuicide



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Bestiality, Bloodplay, F/M, Hypnotism, Roleplay Logs, dubcon elements, mentions of past sexual abuse, underage drinking and drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnanasti/pseuds/sinnanasti, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfSuicide/pseuds/TheArtOfSuicide
Summary: "It's not about what I want…"It was about what was right and good and true. What she could live with, and what she could not, and what she could not live with was to allow the loss of this fiend's immortal soul to hang over her head the rest of her life and then some.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What follows is a roleplay between myself, TheArtOfSuicide, and my friend, SinnaNasti. They are writing as Betelgeuse and I as Lydia. Because of the nature of roleplay, the point of view changes often and you will see each event as it was perceived by our renditions of these characters. It's being posted here so that we can have a comprehensive archive to look back on and reread easily. Please be warned going in that this may never have a clean or concise ending as that is not the point of roleplay.

He hated this. Hated it _deeply_ and with a passion he hadn't felt since he was in the Deetz's house. Just the thought of that place made his already sour mood turn even worse. He was supposed to be spending his honeymoon with Lydia, the little brat, not in the darkest corner of the Netherworld they could find after the sandworm consumed him. Betelgeuse had been chased throughout the realm of the dead for his crimes against both the living and the dead, then captured in a tiny alleyway he tried to snake his way through.

He steamed, both mentally and literally. The chains around his body stung and burned his skin. His nose was filled with the smell of char while the smoke from the fire beneath burned his eyes. Maybe this was what hell was actually like, or what his cigarettes felt like when he puffed away at them.

Betelgeuse tipped his head back and tried to get some cool, fresh air on his face. They put his cage right near a vent, the barest of breezes kissing his cheeks when he moved just right and set still for a fleeting moment. But there was nothing this time, no relief from the heat that pressed in on him, and the ghost snarled his frustration. One leg kicked out‒ his only free limb‒ to the bars around him, pushing out between them. The heat of the fire turned more intense the moment he did, making Betelguese hiss as he yanked his leg back into the cramped cage.

He would give his left nut to get out of this. Both if he could get back to the living world and get his hands on Lydia for making this happen.

* * *

_Exorcism_.

The word stayed with Lydia as she tossed and turned in her sheets that night, unable to find rest.

_"He's getting an exorcism,"_ Barbara had hushed, leveling a grim stare to her husband over their expressed copy of The Netherworld Times. Juno very kindly took the time to send them issues every now and again so they could keep up with Betelgeuse's case. They didn't think Lydia knew about the arrangement, but she did.

_"... serves him right."_

_"‒What are you guys talking about?"_

_"Nothing, nothing at all, sweetie. How was school? Didn't they send out report cards today?"_

The subject was changed, and the newspaper was gone from sight as if it had never been there… but not before Lydia got an eyeful of bold black and white stripes plastered across the front page.

_Did_ it serve him right?

This question kept her distracted all through doing her homework and an hour of study with Adam. The answer continued to elude her as she pushed uneaten food around her dinner plate, appetite gone. Now, hours later, while even the dead that haunted her domain slept and guilt churned in her gut, she found the answer. It wasn't one anyone else in her life would agree with, but it was the only truth her heart could recognize.

**No.** No, he didn't deserve it.

In a flash, she was up, throwing on a pair of boots and flying down the stairs just as quickly and quietly as possible. What needed to be done could not happen there. She needed space, a radius of area that could take whatever wrath he might have been in the mood to dish out. Could she really blame him?

Her legs broke into a sprint as she crossed the threshold the Maitlands couldn't, clunky combat boots catching on the train of her nightgown and sending her knees skidding painfully over gravel. She hissed, brushed off the dirt, then broke back into the run, holding her long skirt higher now.

Time moved differently there. What if she was too late? What if it was already done and no one came when she called? Unfamiliar emotion bubbled in her throat at the thought, eyes stinging.

"Betelgeuse!" She gasped once the house was out of sight. This clearing was a favorite of hers. If he was going to kill her in a fit of vengeful rage, Lydia couldn't think of anywhere else she would rather die. Bent over herself, fighting to catch her breath, and slicked with sweat, leaves caught in her long swathe of wavy dark hair, she appeared as someone who had been through an ordeal before arriving at where they were.

"Betelgeuse… Betel… geuse…"

* * *

The tingle that went up his spine at his name, gasped and sounding in a familiar voice, made Betelgeuse jerk in surprise. He hadn't heard her in a while, hadn't _expected_ to hear her. He was amazed she could even reach into the deep, dark hole he was forced into. His chains rattled when he shoved himself up onto his knees, eyes wide, and mossy teeth showing in the fire's glow.

When Lydia breathed the last syllable and he was taking in cold, fresh air, he swore he could kiss the girl. But then he remembered she was the reason he was locked up to begin with. His skin still stung from the chains, clothes singed from embers, and he looked even rattier than when she met him the first time. Betelgeuse looked her over, saw the skids and tears on her nightgown from where she fell on the gravel, and a part of him felt sadistic pleasure at her pain.

"So… You decided ya wanted more o' me, eh? Can't blame ya, I'm a treat to be around," he hummed. Betelgeuse fluffed his jacket's lapels, grinning at her. She looked like she had run a mile, sweating like a whore in church. It was a sight he enjoyed immensely.

Her reasoning for summoning him didn't matter too much in his mind, all that he cared about was that she _did it_ , actually got him out of his cage. He was out of the heat and away from the fire, haunting his favorite mortal of her own volition. Betelgeuse stepped towards her, reaching out with a grimy hand to take a piece of her jet black hair between two fingers. He spoke again, rubbing the strand while wearing a wicked grin.

"Gotta say I missed ya, Lyds. Was thinkin' 'bout you the whole time I was down in the hole," Betelgeuse said. This close he didn't need to speak too loud, but his smell couldn't be pleasant. He had to be pretty ripe after so long in the heat.

"Did ya miss me too? Have a feelin' ya did, else ya wouldn'ta called me. Bet ya wanna try that hitchin' thing again, even kept that nice ring I gave ya." Betelgeuse grinned wider, winking and tugging her hair.

* * *

Too late, Lydia remembered that she _was_ wearing his ring. There it was, the small silver bit gleaming under the moonlight clear as anything on her right hand's ring finger‒ the finger a widow would wear it. Due to its placement and understated design, neither her parents or Adam and Barbara had noticed she kept it. They probably wouldn't have liked it very much, but what was she supposed to do? Throw away the wedding ring an honest to God _poltergeist_ used to propose to her?

_Fat chance_.

Self-conscious that he'd pinned it so quickly, kicking herself for forgetting to take it off first before leaving on her little night time trip, the guilty hand crumpled into her skirt.

"They‒" her breath hadn't quite caught up with her yet, unaided by his close proximity and presumptuous handling. _Was he flirting with her? Was he mad? Both?_ Lydia couldn't tell. "They were going to kill you."

His scent was strong, but no more so than her own stinking sweat or the damp forest around them. At his blank look, she realized what a stupid thing she had just said.

" _Permanently_. 'Exorcism.' That's what they said. I couldn't… It's not right."

A convenient nearby tree caught her back as she pulled instinctively away from him, her small, tired form slumping against its trunk. This cornered her if he decided to pursue, she knew, but her screaming legs didn't care and welcomed the break.

"I didn't uhm," she wiped a sleeve across her forehead, the thin cotton coming away damp, "didn't really think this through, honestly. The ring is uh… _shit_ …"

It wasn't really hers, after all, was it? Maybe this was reparable. Maybe another act of good faith would redeem her in his eyes. Frazzled, grasping at whatever she thought might please him and alleviate her massive guilt, she pulled the shiny piece from her finger and thrust it out for him to take.

"Here. It's yours. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kept it. I shouldn't‒" _have done a lot of things._ "I shouldn't have it. Please take it back."

* * *

Betelgeuse watched her move around, following her with his fingers still pinched on her hair like it was a leash. The thought of exorcism made his skin crawl‒ it was the worst fate a ghost could be dealt. He was caught off guard by her saying he didn't deserve it, that it wasn't right.

She shouldn't have cared about him being exorcised. She shouldn't have kept the ring. The latter he could explain away by her macabre interests, but the former… That was a sign of _care_ , of her feeling something about him.

"Exorcised, huh? Didn't think I was a bad enough boy for all _that_ ," he snickered dismissively. Betelgeuse squatted in front of her, thighs yelling a bit when he did so. His pants also protested, stretching tight across the meat of his thighs and going flush against his crotch.

"Yer too sweet for yer own good, y'know? Sweet little Lyds, savin' me from a terrible fate," he cooed. Some part of him hated that sweetness in her bleeding heart, the sheer martyrdom that she held on her sleeve like a badge of honor. Lydia was too selfless and he detested it for reasons that were difficult to place, but _damn_ did it do something to him.

The ring on her widow finger, then coming off gave him a little rush of hurt in the bottom of his gut.

"Gave it to ya, didn't I? Ain't mine no more. N' why the widow finger? Cause Mommy Babs offed me with her sandworm?"

A jab, he needed to be prickly with her. Hurt the girl some, keep his demeanor mean so she didn't feel too sweet for him. But even as he said it, he accepted the ring from her hand. It was warm from her body heat, a much more pleasing warmth than the fire he escaped. He rolled the ring between his fingers and soaked the warmth into his cold palms before stealing Lydia's left hand. Softer than he would admit, the silver bit was slid onto her left ring finger. It looked too good on her.

Betelgeuse sighed as he looked at the silver twin of his own ring, pulling the gold band out of his coat pocket to slide it on his corresponding digit.

"Y'know they're gonna come after me, right? Netherworld police don't take kindly to gettin' skimped outta their exorcisms," he rasped, grinning again. It was a dark, ugly thing. He took his hand away from hers to adjust the tight stretch of his pants across his dick, sinking onto one knee to alleviate some pressure.

* * *

Very still and silent, Lydia allowed him to replace her ring in the proper position, watching like a hawk as he proceeded to make his appear and do the same for himself. For some reason, she had thought it much more likely he would want her blood over her hand. The possibility of finishing their wedding had not even been a thought in her mind when she sprinted out here like a madwoman in the dead of night to save his soul.

... But she _hadn't_ saved it. They were still going to come for him, and it was all her fault. She hadn't done _anything_. Recommitted to the original goal by this revelation, she recalled the words he spoke to her not so long ago; _**I want out. For good.**_

It was still possible to save him.

All these thoughts rushed through her hyper-alert mind at a mile a minute as he oh so casually crouched down over where her legs had failed, not at all alarmed by his impending demise‒ not the way she was. Once the ring was settled on the proper finger, his hand kept hold of hers longer than necessary, his fingers stroking over hers. It was _intimate_ , without a doubt the most romantic experience of her life to date.

Then, he released, and so did her breath, and the moment was over. It was powerful enough for Lydia to know what he needed from her without further vocalization on his part.

"But they can't get you if you marry me."

It wasn't a question. Her heart hammered in her throat, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how dry her lips were. Without hesitation, before she could even conceptualize why this might be a bad idea, her head was nodding up and down very slowly, almost zombie-like.

"I'll do it."

Just like she should have the first time. Death always got his due.

* * *

Betelgeuse stilled, eyes wide. Was she really offering what he thought she was? Now his hatred of her good soul reared up in annoyance, and he was sorely tempted to be nasty to the girl. The ghost rubbed an exasperated palm down his face, bits of moss rejoining the forest floor as they were pushed loose. She was too nice to him, too nice in general, and he loathed it so. But then again, he couldn't deny the pleasure it also gave him to be on the receiving end of her sweetness.

Betelgeuse shuffled closer, planting a hand on her calf. Smooth skin, white as porcelain, would undoubtedly bruise if he pressed too hard. He _wanted_ to bruise her, make her bear not only his ring but also proof of his owning her. If she wanted to, and pushed hard enough, he would let her mark him as well.

"Y'know what that means, yeah?" His voice was a low rumble as he spoke. Both for the intimidation factor and for the knowledge of what his voice did to the ladies. "You bein' my little wifey… I get to have ya _when_ I want, _where_ I want. Fill that lil' pussy up when I like, mark ya up in every way so's you always know who yer daddy is. Sure you want that?"

He had a wicked grin on his face as his dirty fingers pressed into her chin, forcing Lydia to look him in the eyes while he made his threats. Betelgeuse was already imagining her prancing around in the skimpiest outfits in a house just for them‒ making dinner in just an apron, lounging in a striped babydoll… It made his mouth water. He swallowed thickly, thumb running up and over Lydia's bottom lip. She was ready to risk everything just to get his ass saved.

He would call her an idiot if she wasn't the smartest breather he'd ever met.

"N' I'll be _out_. Could do anythin' t'the livin' world, anythin' I pleased. Y'wanna take that risk, _kid?"_

He had to make sure, had to give her every possible leg to stand on short of giving her his own. She needed to know exactly what she was getting into; he needed to have some kind of ace to tuck in his sleeve.

* * *

Why was he trying to scare her into saying no? He was still angry. He didn't need to yell or rage or hit her for her to feel it seeping off of him in waves. Shameless with his vulgarity, he felt along her leg, a grubby mitt on her jaw forcing her to look him in the eye while he threatened her with _vile_ acts.

"It's not about what I want…"

It was about what was right and good and true. What she could live with, and what she could not, and what she could _not_ live with was to allow the loss of this fiend's immortal soul to hang over her head the rest of her life and then some. He put on one hell of a farce, but he wasn't as evil as he wanted everyone to think he was and Lydia _knew_ it. Jade eyes burned into hers, fierce and hungry for a reaction. She refused him the anger and indignation he was expecting, instead very gently bringing her ring-bearing hand to grasp the wrist of the gorilla paw he was using to bruise her jaw.

Unlike his, her grip and soft and forgiving, a nonverbal promise that she truly didn't mean him any harm.

"But yes. If‒ if you think that's necessary, then yes. But… if you're just going to use your freedom to run around hurting people, then I guess I'll have to change my mind and go home. I don't want to do that."

* * *

He hated this. She should be scared and cowering and begging him to not breed her like she was some prize bitch he won. She wasn't supposed to be _calm_ in the face of what he represented. Part of Betelgeuse wanted to hurt her, give her a show of what she'd get when married to him, whether she wanted it or not. But he _couldn't_. Not her, not like that, who was he kidding? Stupid kid owned most of his cold, dead heart, and he could barely stomach the thought of ruining her that way.

Additionally, he had laid claim to her virginity a long damn time ago, and that cherry couldn't be popped with force.

Well. It _could_ , but where was the fun in that?

The warmth of her ring pressed into his skin and he loosened his grasp on her. He was hurting her with every second he let himself stew, purple bruises looming just under her skin and slapping him with shame. Betelgeuse hummed, falling back on his ass before tugging Lydia into his lap forcefully. Being away from everyone, locked in the cage, had made him touch starved. Now that he was in the cold damp of Winter River on the edge of spring, he craved her living warmth. The poltergeist held her in his lap, arms wrapped tight around her tiny waist to keep her in place.

"What, can't terrorize the livin'? What 'bout the lil bitches you hate at yer stupid school, huh? Don't want me t'make 'em shit 'emselves on the daily for fuckin' with ya?"

He was a grumbly mess, on the verge of pouting. She was a martyr, a sacrificial lamb, and he should have known she would be willing to take the brunt of his mistreatment for the sake of keeping him away from others. But in his opinion, a marriage to a hot goth and the prospect of torturing her was leagues better than being exorcised and thrown into the pit of forgotten souls.

"Fine, whatever. Won't fuck with the livin', scout's fuckin' honor, I'll just harass the dead," he sighed, holding up three fingers‒ produced from his coat pocket‒ in his right hand. "Too nice for yer own good, babes. Takin' my full force against lil' ol' _you_ , just to save yer fellow man. What a fuckin' hero. Almost makes ya sick."

In his opinion, the more selfish the better‒ that was how he had lived and that's how he had made a name for himself in the Netherworld.

"But I figure we gotta wait a lil' bit for things to cool some- can't have 'em knowing I'm here just yet or I'll be sandworm food again and _eep_." His voice went up three octaves with the final noise, clutching his throat with one hand whilst the other kept its place high on Lydia's thigh.

* * *

When he grabbed her up so abruptly, snuggling her in close to his chest on his lap like a beloved teddy bear by a rambunctious child, she went painfully rigid. Fight or flight instincts were screaming to be indulged, but Lydia focused intently on keeping her breathing calm to chase them away. This was the price. She agreed to let him do this. Fighting now would only invalidate everything she'd just said.

But it was so _hard_. He was terrifying her with his lewd threats, and it was taking everything she had not to let on how deeply she feared what he had in store for her. It didn't help that he clearly revelled in her discomfort, teasing and poking and prodding to try and force any nastiness out of her that he could. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. It did not go beyond her notice that he was hyperfixating on the part of their deal that meant she was saving mankind from his wrath‒ in doing so completely ignoring that she wouldn't need to save them if she just let him _perish_ the way everyone believed he was meant to.

"Primum non nocere," she quoted, eyes closed, unclenching the tiny, pathetic fists that wanted to break his crooked nose. "First, do no harm. I'm sorry I went back on our deal, and I'm sorry Barbara did that to you, and I'm sorry that‒ that _they_ thought those were good enough reasons to put you on death row. _I'm sorry_. It's my fault. I was scared. I know that's not an excuse, but it's what happened."

There. She could feel a supreme weight lifting off her chest. She wasn't absolved completely, not yet, but just saying it all out loud made her feel so much better.

"I didn't _mean_ to back out. I didn't think it was going to be like that. I thought‒ I don't know, I thought I would just sign a marriage certificate or something and it would be fast and quiet and‒ _I'm so stupid_."

The sun was coming up. The sight of the dull red haze on the horizon made her groan, and finally fight against his hold to get to her feet. He wouldn't let her.

"I have to go home to get ready for school. I _promise_ I'm not going to send you back. Please just let me go to school."

* * *

He rested his chin atop her head, enjoying her weight against him and the soft curve of her ass between his thighs. She was still thin, but had some curve to her that she didn't have when they met. Her apology hit him harder than he expected, like a sucker punch to his gut, and he looked down to check if she _had_ punched him with her pale fists.

It hurt when she said she was stupid. Much more than he wanted.

"Ain't stupid," he grunted against her hair. The softness was intoxicating, as was the smell. Some kind of jasmine mixed with other scents‒ something he could get used to. Betelgeuse was uncharacteristically gentle as he turned her around so they faced one another and his hand cupped her delicate cheek.

She was too perfect, too sweet, too… Angelic. The thought of tying her down to himself, being a ball and chain for her… It hurt and thrilled him at the same time. _He_ was the one to spoil that innocence, clip her wings… his own pet angel in the form of a mortal girl with honey brown eyes. Betelgeuse brushed a kiss over her cheekbone, sighing. He must have smelled like a campfire and mausoleum mixed with trash, but Lydia stayed calm and with him.

"Honestly, babes, yer the smartest broad I ever met, dead or alive. Wasn't your fault, didn't know better," he reassured her, petting her soft hair. The sun coming up had him itching to see the world, explore like he wanted. But he wanted her close, just a little longer, so he held Lydia tight even as she struggled. The friction felt nice enough that he encouraged the wriggling, smirking over her head. At the mention of school his nose wrinkled.

"Hate school. Fuckin' waste o' time. But I'd kill to fuck with some snot-nosed brats." He cackled at the thought before letting Lydia go. The watches on his arm would leave pretty red marks in the softness of her tummy where they had dug in; he wanted so badly to see the number they did on her.

"Let's getcha home and to school then, Lyds. Can't have ya be late," Betelgeuse crowed.

He scooped her up bridal style, then slung the girl over his shoulder with ease, making his way back to her house. As much as he hated the idea of being invisible to everyone and ignored by Lydia, this was going to be _fun_.


	2. Chapter 2

The first half of the walk back home‒ _how he even knew the way was a mystery to Lydia‒_ saw her pouting and kicking and squirming fruitlessly to be let down, only for a sharp swat to her behind to still her.

"That _hurt_ ," she pouted, but went limp and behaved all the way to the front door. Here, however, she would not be silenced.

_"Put! Me! Down!"_ She whisper-yelled, kicking him firmly with each word as she felt his hand go for the knob. "Barb's awake! You can't just _walk through the front door!"_

Finally, she seemed to get through to him and was slid down his front until her boots touched the ground. Miffed, copious hair even more mussed than before she called him back, Lydia huffed and straightened out her appearance as best she could. Any improvement was minimal.

"Go through that window there," she pointed up, "that's my room. I'll meet you there in a minute."

As she could be found every morning, Barbara was in the kitchen brewing coffee and putting breakfast together for the household. Today was a muffin day.

"Lydia?" Barbara called, startled that someone would be coming through the front door this early in the morning. The rest of the Deetzes usually didn't crawl out of bed until just before noon. "Where did you go? I went to wake you up this morning and you weren't in bed and‒ _your hair!_ Why are you still in your pajamas? Did something happen?!"

For _almost_ too long, Lydia gaped for an explanation before a simple lie presented itself in the form of a skinny black cat.

"Percy!" She blurted out suddenly, struck with inspiration when the little beast came purring along her legs, then picked him up to cuddle. "There you are! I couldn't find you _anywhere_. I'm sorry to worry you, Barb. I thought maybe he got out, I've been looking for him for hours."

Mrs. Maitland frowned thoughtfully, reaching out to pet the cat in Lydia's arms.

"Poor thing. Probably just got locked in your darkroom again. You hungry? I'm making apple-cinnamon, your _favorite_."

"No, thank you. Maybe later."

The thought of trying to chew and swallow food with so much on her mind was distasteful. With that, Lydia made a hasty retreat up the stairs to the waiting poltergeist, nervous to have left him unsupervised for even that short period of time.

"How do you want to do this?" She cut right to the chase, releasing Percy from her arms and heading straight to her closet to pull out a clean school uniform.

"You can't come to school with me. You definitely can't stay here‒ and I _have_ to go to school." Well aware of his disdain for the educational system, she thought it necessary to impart the importance of her education. "Am I supposed to live with you? I don't‒ I don't know what's expected of me here. I can't even say your _name_. What kind of wife can't even say her husband's name? And‒ and I _have_ to go to school."

The stress of her late-night decision was clear and visible, making poor Lydia look so much older than the child she truly was.

* * *

Betelgeuse enjoyed carrying her around, squeezing her ass and thigh with a lecherous grin. She had enough fat that he could get a good grip, but it was a meager amount compared to what he liked in a lady. He wouold just have to see to it that she started eating like she meant it. He let his hand slide along her bare leg when she pushed off him, fingertips grazing against the lace edge of her panties. The orders she gave him had his hackles raising just so, huffing as he reluctantly obeyed.

Even as he went up into her room, he kept his mind on the little goth girl, his bride to be. Walking around the room, he ran grimy fingers on the black sheets, the curtains drawn around the bed. He spotted a tiny figurine of himself on the dresser resembling when he had appeared as a snake, unmistakeably sculpted by Delia. He didn't know why she would have kept a reminder of him in that state‒ especially as it traumatized her.

Betelgeuse grit his teeth at the little cat that hissed at him when he passed by, lip curling over his mossy teeth. He tossed the figurine between his hands as she spoke. Her frazzled appearance made him ache a bit and he hated the stress he could smell rolling off her. The poltergeist made his way to Lydia's side, making an effort to calm her with a light touch on her arm. He didn't like seeing her stressed, didn't like her hurting.

"Don't gotta say my name, baby girl. Gimme a nickname or somethin' t'make it easy, I'll be nice. Wanna stay here with you, can't go back to the Netherworld," he explained softly. His lips graced Lydia's face, fingers running up into the mess of her hair. Once she was dressed he pushed her into the chair at her vanity, his fingers curling around her brush to run it through her hair. She needed to look good for school and he wanted to help.

As he brushed through her hair and pulled it up into the style she told him, he spoke to his future wife.

"I'll go with ya t'school n' be good, promise. Don't want you to be upset, babes," he said softly. His lips pressed against her temple as he watched her in the mirror. "Be on my best behavior for you. Be a good guy for my wife, my girl."

And he meant it, too. She knew he did as well‒ she always saw through him to the core of who he was, past all the of bullshit. It was why he liked her to begin with.

He looked her over in the mirror, smiling. "I like the skirt. Wanna do anything else to pretty yourself up, doll?"

* * *

From the moment she stepped out from the walk-in closet in her uniform‒ that he was generous enough to allow her to dress in private was nothing short of miraculous‒ he had a hand on her, touching, pulling her this way and that and gently helping prepare her for school. _Grooming._ Despite his genial handling and hushed, affectionate words Lydia remained rigid, spine erect and ramrod straight as she watched her lonely, haunted reflection slowly come together.

This man was _going to_ fuck her. They both knew it. They both knew that it would be better if she played nice and went along for the ride. Logically, she _knew_ this, but the way she trembled beneath his touch, releasing nearly inaudible whimpers of fear when he purred close to her ear couldn't be helped. He talked to her like she was a spooked, hurt animal‒ and in a way, she was. Nevertheless, the threat he presented with his mere presence never lessened.

"This is okay," she gulped, barely recognizing the girl in the mirror. "Thank you."

Was she really that ghastly pale? Were the shadows under her eyes truly so deep? Unable to bear it a moment longer, she slipped gracefully under his arm, slung her bookbag over her shoulder, and was headed out the door‒ _running away_. If only for a moment.

"Have a good day at school, honey."

Adam was awake now, nursing a steaming cup of joe he didn't need. Uncharacteristically on Lydia's part, his well-wishes went unanswered. Betelgeuse was waiting on the porch for her when she emerged, just like she was expecting him to be. Single-mindedly, hoping he might catch the hint and lend her space, she charged on just as quickly as her short, skinny legs could carry her, wary of the very real possibility he might just sling her over his shoulder again at any moment.

"You _promise_ you won't… do anything _bad?"_

This was a dangerous question, but Lydia was no stranger to flirting with death. None of the prior stress had left her, but it was more contained now. It was time for school. Her face had to be immaculate lest the wolves sensed weakness and honed in.

* * *

He didn't notice the whimpers, didn't notice a lot of her actions. All Betelgeuse cared about was the reflection of Lydia, how sweet she looked all dolled up. He let her lead him out, let her take control for a while. Maybe she would be sweeter to him if he allowed her some breathing room and control over her situation… But he was a sucker for her being flush against him, and he _ached_ to touch her every she was near.

Betelgeuse followed after her at a distance, keeping his future bride in his sights at all times. His eyes strayed to the swish of her skirt most of the time, wishing it wasn't so stupidly long and he could maybe luck a flash of her panties. He was always hot for the ultra short schoolgirl skirts. When she spoke to him, Betelgeuse sped up enough to catch up to her and listen to her soft words. She was a ticking bomb, he felt, and wanted to keep her from exploding as best as he could.

"Promise, baby girl. Cross my heart n' everythin'," he hummed. Sure enough, he crossed an "X" over his left side, right over the quiet heart in his chest. Well… rather, the hole where his heart used to be, a long time ago. "I'll be good for you, Lyds, unless you _want_ me to be bad."

Grinning madly, he pushed off the ground and floated beside her at the pace of her steps. He watched her blend into the hoard of school children, the uniforms making his head spin with how much _plaid_ there was around him. Staying close to Lydia so he could focus on her, he hummed while he followed, an old unrecognizable tune. The other students didn't strike him as important, just regular little living kids that he didn't care about. One blonde in particular, though… He could smell the nasty in her bones, deep in her soul as well. She had him on edge, and the thought of her being near Lydia made that nasty thing inside of him rile up irrationally.

"I don't like this chick, Lyds," he breathed in her ear. No one could hear him, there wasn't any use in whispering, but he felt it necessary. "Seems like a class A bitch. Don't like her bein' near you, babes."

* * *

_Claire?_ Lydia nearly rolled her eyes, then designated a corner of her notebook to communicating with him incognito.

**That's just Claire. She** **is** **a bitch, but she's harmless. Don't give her any attention. She likes it too much.**

So far today, Claire hadn't bothered trying to bait her, but it was only a matter of time. It wasn't even lunchtime yet. With a pang of dread, Lydia realized that if Claire decided to seek her out as an emotional punching bag today of all days, that she might not be able to save her from Betelgeuse's more unsavory inclinations. With that realization, her gaze shifted uneasily between the poltergeist‒ invisible to the rest of the room‒ and Claire, too busy texting to bother with note-taking. A glacial gaze flickered up. Hot pink lips broke into a sneer. Lydia snapped her attention back to the sheet of paper.

Maybe she would eat lunch in the library again today.

Betelgeuse proceeded to loom over her shoulder all through the first four periods of the day, backing off just enough when he could sense that she might have been close to a fit. Maybe she was in shock. Maybe that's what this feeling was. So much had happened so fast, she felt like an imposter inhabiting her own body, calling up dead ex-fiance's in the middle of the night and lying to Barbara.

What would Mother think?

A heavy male hand fell on her shoulder abruptly and she was shaken so badly she had to stifle a cry, fumbling and dropping her pencil in the seconds that followed.

"Miss Deetz!" Mr. Robertson exclaimed jovially, amused by her abject terror for some reason. " _Relax!_ It's Friday! You'll have all weekend to study for this quiz! Now let me see what you've got here…"

For the next several minutes, her chubby, balding History teacher with coffee breath loomed over her shoulder, checking over her work. She missed Betelgeuse. He wasn't far behind after Mr. Robertson moved along down the line of teenage girls to similarly assess their… assignments.

* * *

The moment the blonde‒ Claire‒ looked at Lydia, Betelgeuse knew she would be trouble. "Harmless" his ass. Bitch had a mean streak a mile long, he just _knew_ it. Took a nasty fuck to know another. He wandered the room when he wasn't clinging to Lydia, watching the kids around her. It was weird to see them focused on their work, seeming to _care_ about being in school and forced to fill out meaningless paperwork. The words in their books blurred into a sea of names he barely recognized and numbers that swirled in his head.

Lydia's horror at her teacher had him ready to murder. He zoomed back to her when he noticed, hovering behind her free shoulder. Instead of looming, the poltergeist manipulated his shape, laying his snake body on her shoulder. He slid down her upper arm, squeezing just so to keep himself on her sleeve. Her teacher shouldn't have been so close, so deep in Lydia's space. That was _his territory_ , and the motherfucker needed to get away from her. Betelgeuse was tempted to sink his fangs into his fat fingers and fill him with venom.

Once the teacher left and he could reclaim his spot on Lydia's shoulder, Betelgeuse slithered his way up. Changing his mind halfway through, though, he laid himself around her neck. Enough pressure to stay but not enough to make her uncomfortable.

"You okay there, Lyds? Asshole was all up in yer space. Didn't like him lookin' at you the way he did‒ or how he looks at th' other gals too," he hissed. As he spoke to her, his tail shook and moved around- a show of his annoyance. His messy hair tickled under her ear, made her flinch, and he nuzzled in apology. He dropped to the floor behind her chair, standing on his two legs and resting his chin on top of her head.

"I can bite him if ya want. Poison his ass n' get him outta here for ya… Wouldn't take but a blink, baby."

He rubbed his cheek against her hair, in the same direction he'd pulled it that morning so he wouldn't ruin his craftsmanship. The poltergeist wanted to calm her down, get her happy… He just didn't know quite how to.

"Ya wanna go to the Netherworld after we get hitched? Got some spots I wanna show you… Nice honeymoon places, I know you'll love 'em."

* * *

Her demeanor hardly improved when Betelgeuse returned to conquering her personal space, hissing threats over her teacher this time rather than Claire. Anyone who paid her any attention was under harsh scrutiny by her striped shadow. Clearly, no one saw the snake, but she did. Felt its scales moving lovingly, possessively over clammy flesh. Sickeningly, it comforted her more to feel him like that than when he was large and male and human, eating up every inch of her space.

_Do I have a choice?_ She almost wrote in the corner in response to his silly honeymoon questions, but didn't. One shouldn't ask questions they already knew the answer to.

**Sure.** The prospect of seeing the land of the dead was at least intriguing, but the reasons for her visit soured any curious thrill. For a moment she hesitated, then wrote; **Please turn back into a snake again?** He was less threatening that way. Lydia liked snakes. Embarrassed by the request, feeling the need to explain herself, she continued to write; **I can't** **think** **like this.**

It wasn't a lie. Kindly, he returned her this small mercy and she could continue pretending to give a damn about the war of 1812. The bell rang and she was ready for it, books and papers already stashed away in the bag slung over her shoulders. She needed to circumvent Claire. All week she had managed to avoid her, but there was something static in the air that told Lydia to expect trouble.

Dutifully, the weight on her shoulders remained in place, continuing to hiss his thoughts and suggestions in her ear. She never responded. The last thing she needed was to let them see her talking to herself.

* * *

At her request, he was happy to shift himself again. Anything to indulge her, make her happy… God, he was getting soft. Stupid girl, making him turn into a snake just because she was flighty and weird. Maybe she was into it. Betelgeuse couldn't help his shudder of excitement at the thought of Lydia liking her thin neck squeezed by him. If she liked having his hand on her neck as much as she liked his scaled body… He could get behind that _real_ quick. The snake curled loosely around her neck, his tail laying against her collarbone and tickling under her shirt purposefully flirtatiously.

Anyone that looked at her would just see the collar of her shirt rustling in the slight breeze of the air conditioning, and he loved the knowledge that no one would know better if he _did something_ to her. In public, in the middle of her little school and all of her classmates. The thought was a rush to his head, making him sweet and compliant when she handled him on the rare occasion. He didn't notice too much when they entered the cafeteria until he smelled the food. Betelgeuse perked up, hissing to Lydia that he _really wanted_ the ribs they were serving. Something heavy and meaty to fill his belly, and tastier than what the Netherworld often had on selection.

The line was quick and the ribs were the only thing she grabbed, a delicacy that Betelgeuse fell on almost immediately. He was voracious, digging into the soft meat happily. It didn't cross his mind that Lydia only grabbed the ribs because he asked for them, or that she hadn't eaten anything that morning and wasn't grabbing anything now while she had the chance. The only thought that _did_ register was that the sauce was excellent and he needed to get some roaches and beetles to dip in it next time. Maybe Lydia would help him hunt some down.

He only realized he was being dislodged from her tray when he smacked into the poof of Claire's perfectly coiffed blonde hair, scales catching in the fine strands. He thrashed around, tangling himself up even more and hissing angrily. When he finally got himself up to yell out _"LYDIAAAAAAA"_ in a furious hiss, he saw what had become of his future bride. She was sprawled on the ground, skirt tugged down to her ankles, showing off the dark lace of her panties. He felt bad for staring and letting his drool drip onto Claire's jacket but he couldn't help it, the sight of her cute pale cheeks framed by the black had him itching badly.

He wasn't the only one itching if Claire's angry shriek gave anything away. She was covered in his meal and had a ghostly snake tangled up in her hair, making her scrabble and claw at her own head. Her screams of _"There's something on me!"_ had Betelgeuse cackling. He untangled himself to wrap himself around her neck, sliding down past the collar of her shirt. There was more screaming at that, Claire now hysterical as she clawed at her shirt and danced around. The movement dislodged him, tail only catching on the waistband of Claire's panties at the last second. They came with him when he dropped to the ground and stayed with him when he returned to his human form.

Lydia was dashing to the exit then, and he launched the strawberry patterned panties at the face of one of the other students. Claire let out a final scream when Betelgeuse went the extra step, yanking the plaid skirt down so she imitated his wife. After that, he was gone down the halls and sniffing out the gothic teen so he could comfort her.

* * *

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. In trying to avoid Claire, looking around every corner anxiously, taking unfamiliar routes out of the way of heavy student traffic, Lydia all but ensured her demise. She was too busy scanning the tables for a head of platinum to see Claire right in front of her, the blonde minding her own damn business and chatting with friends.

The fall was hard, cold linoleum aggravating her already ravaged knees and slapping sharp on her pale cheek. Cruel laughter fell on her ears for long seconds while she struggled to catch her breath after such a hard fall, the entire side of her face aching. It took far too long for her to realize exactly what had happened, why they were laughing so hard at her misery. The ugly sound was soon drowned out by blood rushing her ears, static white noise protecting her from it.

Without a thought to Claire or Betelgeuse or the scandalized Miss Shannon heading her way to berate her for such an unladylike scene, Lydia tore through the cafeteria and headed straight for the nearest ladies' room. Luckily, it was empty. The largest stall at the end became her temporary sanctuary from the outside world, though she wasn't so naive as to think social boundaries would be enough to keep Betelgeuse out.

_She was so pathetic._ Part of her wished he'd just killed her out in that clearing, taken his vengeance the cold and easy way. He probably thought she was so _weak_. Of course he did. She _was_. He would never let people treat him the way she let people treat her.

The temperature dropped sharply. He was here.

"Please leave me alone," she whimpered inbetween her knees, the small painful sound echoing clear as day around the tiled room. "Just for a minute. I just need a minute. _**Please.**_ _"_

* * *

He ignored her pleas, sliding his snake body around her neck once again. He laid heavy around her collarbone, head rubbing soft against the skin under her jaw. It tickled her, he knew. His long tongue flicked out against her jaw and left a trail of cold spit on her ivory skin. Lydia was still warm against him‒ maybe even warmer thanks to the high flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. She was cute when flustered but this made him angry.

Betelgeuse didn't say anything for a while, only taking the cue to speak when she uncurled and ran thin fingers over his scales.

"I got her back… Made her flash that little blonde pussssy to the whole cafeteria. Dessserved it," he whispered in her ear, his voice a rasping hiss. He dragged out his letters when pissed, even more so when his tongue was forked. He stretched up to look her in the eyes, grinning a bit.

"She got worssse than you. I made sssure of it."

Sure, Lydia may not have liked him getting at Claire, but in his eyes, she needed the cruelty and even _more_ for hurting his Lyds. His fangs showed when he smiled at her, curling back around her neck and rubbing his cheek against hers.

"C'mon, babesss, let'sss blow thisss joint. Wanna get you out on the town n' have sssome fun. Fuckin' shmucks here don't appreciate you... Don't need you either. Bet the Netherworld would be more fun. Don't gotta be there. Can be _anywhere_ ," he offered. Anything but here, where they didn't care for his girl.

Additionally, he wanted her to himself. Wanted to get her hitched to him, take her to Scarama to visit the beach. Maybe even get her a few drinks to loosen up and become sweeter to him.

"Let'sss _goooo_ , babesss. Wanna ssspoil my girl before we get hitched, give her a good time to make up for thessse shitheadsss."

* * *

His musings were accurate. Lydia didn't garner any kind of sick pleasure from listening to how he humiliated Claire cruelly in her name. Claire hadn't even done anything, didn't deserve it no matter what he thought. Again, this was all her fault.

Never in her life had Lydia ever missed school on purpose. If she got good enough grades she could be whoever she wanted, do whatever she wanted, put in a respectable effort at escaping the mundanity of life. Additionally, she genuinely enjoyed soaking up information, curious about the world around her despite its rejection of her.

But… he made a convincing argument. She wasn't sure she could bear facing her classmates after a display like that, and Claire was surely out for blood by now if what Betelgeuse said was true. The cheek he rubbed against was hot to the touch and slightly swollen from her fall, but not enough to diminish her beauty.

"Okay," she finally caved in, shoulders slumped low. What was the point in delaying the inevitable? Ever since she'd offered up that apology in the deep, dark of the woods, he'd been nothing but sweet on her. Pushy, and obnoxious, and far too entitled, sure, but nothing that gave her any indication he meant her real harm. A part of her still feared the side of him he may have been hiding away that still wanted his vengeance.

It didn't matter. Whether the monster was there lurking or not, this was happening. She was so tired. Her head hurt so bad. Maybe letting him take charge was a bad idea, but she was running on fumes and worn down, unable to find a good enough reason to say no.

"Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

Betelgeuse hissed happily at her answer, sliding off her shoulders and popping back to his human form. He pulled Lydia up to her feet as best he could in the cramped stall. She was easy to drag out of there and towards the mirror, even easier to lift up bridal style and carry through. A mirror portal was simple enough to conjure, even with the binds on his powers, and he was breathing easy when they stepped foot in the Netherworld.

The poltergeist barely gave her a choice on where to go first, still carrying her when he popped through another portal. His feet met the boardwalk just before the gray beaches of Scarama and he set Lydia down a moment after.

"Welcome to the Netherworld's best beach, babes. Figured we could swim, have a few drinks, find a nice lil' place to tie the knot. Unless ya wanna do it back in Livin' People Land, that's dandy. But I figure we do it fast so's I don't end up gettin' snatched up by the fuzz while we're havin' a blast." His speech was quick, almost more than normal. Something in Betelgeuse was hurried to make her his official wife‒ more than likely the thought of being exorcised at any moment and leaving her here without protection.

Despite the simmering panic, he kept a calm demeanor even as he rattled off about everything under the sun the beach offered. Once they got to a little drink vendor, he shut up.

"Whatcha want, babe? Might as well celebrate the ol' fashioned way," he chuckled, gently elbowing her with a wink.

* * *

Without thinking, conditioned by his constant molestation most likely, she snuggled into his chest easily when he grabbed her up, finding momentary comfort in fisting the coarse material of his jacket. Mr. and Mrs. Maitland wouldn't tell her anything about the Netherworld when she asked, fearful of her suicidal tendencies. This could be… fun. Maybe.

Once they passed through the veil, all the stress lines smoothed on her face, eyes wide and jaw slack as she took in all the otherworldly sights and sounds. The sky was an unnatural color, everyone around them dead, decaying, or monstrous in some capacity‒ and yet, they paid her no mind. Some stared curiously for a moment or two but seemed too wary of her escort to indulge their interest further than that.

When he set her on her feet, she nearly wandered away from him, entranced by all that was laid before her. The sand at this beach was silver, like finely ground stardust. The sky was vivid orange bleeding into green on the horizon. _Three moons shone down on them_ ‒ but the beach was packed. Was it night? Day? Did such concepts even exist here? The gently breezing air was warm, and Lydia sweat a bit beneath her uniform, but there wasn't any sunlight to crisp her sensitive, milky skin.

The little barstand was run by a humanoid octopus man, each of his eight tentacles dedicated to creating multiple complicated drinks at once and satisfying his many customers. Hot as it was, he was busy.

"I don't know," she murmured, hanging back, not wishing to get in anyone's way or inconvenience the busy barkeep. "Is it alcohol? I've never…" Lydia had never heard of any of the options on the board, the ingredients the octopus handled behind the counter similarly foreign. "You pick. Something sweet and cold. Please."

* * *

If he were a different creature, something sweet and kind, he would have ordered her a virgin version of the drinks they had. But he was desperate to have a loose, fun-loving Lydia, and he ordered her the strongest drink they had. Something with corpse flower extract for himself, and a special blackberry concoction for her. He made sure it was made extra sweet and extra cold.

"There, babes. Taste it n' tell me how it is," he purred as he handed her the frosty glass. His hands moved over her shoulders as he eased her out of the uniform jacket, then snapped. Gone was the plaid, replaced with a crimson spiderweb-patterned sundress. It matched her aesthetics perfectly and helped her better blend into the macabre crowd, something he needed for both their securities.

When it seemed she liked the drink, he made sure to order another for them to get back to before he guided her down the beach. Betelgeuse enjoyed her wide-eyed staring, head on a swivel to see everything. The water was cold and inky black, swirling around their ankles.

"Don't go too deep, babygirl. Can't have the leeches get ya," he chuckled. One big hand rested on her lower back, fingertips teasing at the curve of her ass as he sipped his drink. She glowed in the light of the moons, looking like a star that Betelgeuse was happy to be burned and blinded by.

* * *

The dress was pretty, and her drink was sweet and cold, just like she asked.

"It's good," she'd conceded with the tiniest, barely-there smile and a polite _thank you_ before allowing him to walk her down the beach. For a time, her troubles were forgotten.

_"Don't go too deep, babygirl. Can't have the leeches get ya."_

"I won't," she promised, but then drifted deeper anyway until the water was swishing closer to midcalf. If eaten by leeches in the land of the dead was how she was going to die, then that was how she was going to die.

"Is this… a date?"

What a silly question to ask prior to one's wedding.

"I've never been on a date before." Or drank alcohol for that matter, which was making her tongue loose and cheeks warm. "Boys don't like me because I'm ugly."

This wasn't a fish for compliments or ply for sympathy. Just a cold statement of fact that her muddled mind thought it necessary for him to know seeing as he was planning on marrying and fucking her shortly.

"I don't get why you wanted to marry me in the first place. I mean… I guess I was pretty convenient. Pretty convenient this time, too."

Whatever the future held in store for her, she found herself temporarily unafraid. _Calm_. At ease with whatever her fate, if only for the moment. Alcohol was _amazing_. The sharp edges of her anxiety were dulled enough to let her lull and lean against him as her short legs tired. How long had she been awake now? Her drink was almost gone, and the water sloshing near her knees was getting colder.

"My drink's gone." For the first time since arriving in the afterlife, she was frowning, lifting the empty glass upside down over the water. "May I please have another?"

* * *

He watched her every move, felt his gut turn warm and soft at her smile and her thanks. Fuck, he _was_ getting soft. She was chipping away at his rough edges and molding him into a fucking mush. But then again he couldn't care that much, because it was _Lydia_ that was doing this.

"First date, I'm a lucky ghoul," he hummed as he watched her. Sometime earlier he'd traded his suit for a striped one piece to fit into the beach atmosphere. When she said she was ugly, Betelgeuse frowned.

"Fuck you mean, Lyds? You're a smokin' babe. Hundred outta ten, baby. N' it ain't cause you're convenient‒" _except_ , his mind supplied, _it kinda was because of that. No other chick woulda married ya, Betel_ ‒ "'s cause you're just my typa gal."

She looked colder the longer they were in the water and he draped his coat over her petite frame. Guiding her back to the bar stand, he got her second drink and traded it for her empty cup. He was still on his first, only finishing half of it.

"Real cute when you're polite, baby girl. _Real_ cut. All them pleases n' thank you's… Gotta admit, it's a li'l hot," he hummed as he led her down the boardwalk. A few denizens of the land of the dead stared at her, confused at the breather under the arm of the one and only _Betelgeuse_. Their stares didn't bother him at all‒ if anything they made him puff up more, peacocking around and taking pride in his bride.

* * *

"Manners matter," she flushed dark, repeating the cutesy phrase uttered to the small children she sometimes babysat. He was charming like this, his lust more flattering than frightening. Nevertheless, her nerves couldn't be abated for long. Even this many drinks deep with zero food on her stomach, they managed to make a return once they approached a small, dirty chapel on the strip.

Its white paint was chipped, the hinges on the rusting gate surrounding the property ancient and groaning, but the stained glass windows the forgotten little building boasted were _beautiful_. Lydia thought she wouldn't mind getting married in a place like this. More than a little intoxicated now, she stopped walking, having spotted the building before he did, and tugged his cuff gently in that direction to force his attention. The butterflies in her gut were somersaulting again, but alcohol had given her courage enough to try and ignore them.

"Let's do it here. Now." Without waiting for his agreement, she stepped delicate bare feet onto the electric-blue grass surrounding the building, crushing it between her toes and admiring its softness.

"Might as well. I like the windows, and this grass is _blue_. I've never seen blue grass before."

It was probably commonplace to him. Still, Lydia had spiraled into an awed sort of daze ever since arriving here, holding onto him for guidance as he introduced her to the afterlife before her time.

"Unless you have somewhere else in mind… It doesn't really matter."

* * *

Betelgeuse smiled as he watched her, holding her shoes for her in his left hand ever since they left the beach. When she looked around the place he called his dwelling with such wide-eyed awe, it was so precious that his dead heart softened. When she pulled him into the chapel's ground, he hummed softly. She was eager, in a way, to be married to him. He was happy for that even if it was only because she was drunk.

"Nah, baby girl, it's perfect," he consented. With a snap of his fingers, her sundress was a wedding gown, the same blood-red color with a spider web veil covering her beautiful features. His striped suit returned, the white replaced with black, and he linked his arm in hers. Betelgeuse's grin was big and proud as they went into the chapel together. There was a service set up already‒ there were always dead couples that wanted to pledge their afterlives to one another.

It was a quick set up to get the certificate. Betelgeuse barely noticed the shaking of Lydia's hands as she signed her name next to his. Then came the ceremony. The softness he felt in his heart grew as he watched her walk down the aisle. Even if she swayed a bit, stumbling on the stairs up to where he waited, there wasn't another woman in his head.

Simple words, sweet vows. He promised himself to her for the rest of eternity, until the end of time, and flushed when he realized he _meant_ what he was telling her. Everything was according to his plan, according to what he wanted‒ even when she passed out in his arms during their first kiss. One moment, she was cradled perfectly against him and sighing into his mouth, and then she was limp. At first, it stroked his ego; a true casanova he was, making his new wifey swoon with the power that came with their bond being solidified. But then he thought about it as she _stayed_ limp in his arms at the altar, worrying him.

Had she eaten anything? He knew she skipped lunch, hadn't asked for anything in the Netherworld… All the time Lydia had been with him she'd been starving _and_ had two strong cocktails in her empty belly. Plus the nerves, and how delicate humans were…

He fucked up. Big time.

* * *

All that fear and anxiety came rushing back in a dizzying bout when he magicked her clothes again, a heavy extravagant gown coming to replace her sundress. Her hair moved around her, dressing itself in soft waves, little roses weaving through an intricate knot of braids. Her face felt different, like she was wearing makeup now. Heavy layers of tulle and satin hung from her hips, unforgiving steel bones in the beautifully embroidered bodice choking her already tiny waist into submission.

She could hardly breathe, the apples of her cheeks and the tops of her small, squeezed together breasts flushing an icy pink that juxtaposed nicely with the bloody crimson of her dress and lips. How she managed to stumble down that impossibly long stretch of carpet without faceplanting again‒ _or maybe stopping to keel over and vomit in the pews‒_ showed a practiced level of poise and grace.

At least he was merciful enough not to put her in heels. As she approached the dais, she reached out to him for stability. Judging by the far too sweet, far too genuine way he proceeded to give his vows, Lydia surmised that he thought she was clinging to him like a lover.

"I do," was all she was willing to mutter when the time came, the priest never waiting for her to promise or reciprocate anything of the kind in response to her groom's vows. _He was going to kiss her_. _He was going to hurt her._ The pounding in her chest reached a crescendo as his lips descended and all at once, the world around her went dark.

When next she awoke, the room was dim as if lit by candlelight, and her gaze was hazy. Breathing was a chore, the constricting gown still holding her captive above a soft cushiony surface. When she didn't know where she was and didn't immediately see him, her heart rate spiked again, brows crinkling in confusion.

"Betelgeuse?"

* * *

After the girl fainted, he carried her all the way back to his crypt, settling her in the coffin that his body had long since vacated. She was darling in the velvet casket, looking so… dead that he felt a bit of panic. He settled his ear atop one plush breast, listening for the heartbeat that he _knew_ was in her chest. There it was, slow and steady thrumming in his ear in perfect rhythm.

He let her sleep as he made the crypt more presentable. A bed in the far back for when she disliked his coffin, a small closet with clothes he thought she would look stunning in, and foods filling the table next to them both. Betelgeuse sat near her for a while, then moved to his own closet when he got too anxious waiting for her. Gone was his wedding suit, replaced with a pair of striped pants and a dirty old wife beater. He doubted they would be consummating the marriage that night, so he was ready to crack open a beer and let his wife rest. Betelgeuse had just settled in his armchair and cracked open a cold bottle when Lydia woke. Her soft voice calling his name had him sprinting to her side, almost falling over himself when he got to her.

"Lyds! Babes, I'm so glad you're okay! Ya gave me a second heart attack, baby girl, droppin' like a stone. Was my breath _that_ bad?"

His animated voice came out in a worried rasp. He worked open her dress without waiting for her to ask, loosening the corset's ties so she could actually breathe. Kissing gently along her wrist as he did so, a smile was spared up at her as he tugged off the last few layers. This was just for her to be comfortable, that's what he was telling himself. It wasn't because he was curious what lingerie she had on under the red satin and tulle, not at all. Once she was more comfortable, he pulled the tray of food close.

"Eat somethin', babes. Ya passed out after the I do's, wanna make sure yer okay," he offered. The tray was piled with high iron and protein meals, an assortment of both living and Netherworld dishes for her to pick and choose from. "Not gonna let ya get up till you've eaten somethin'. Even jus' a li'l bit o' sandwich."

He was prepared to be pushy with this, and didn't care if she got pissy with him. She was important. Her _health_ was important.

"'M just glad ya didn't hit yer head… Woulda been a quick end to this jus' bein' a visit."

* * *

She was grateful for the liberation from her wedding gown, but suspicious of his motivations, especially when her stripping down was paired with presumptuous, intimate kisses along her arm and shoulder. Beneath the dress was a sheer fitted slip, thin and easy to rip, and beneath that were even more scraps of lace meant to be looked at then removed rather than worn for an extended period.

"How long was I out…? Where am I...?"

Her vision eventually settled, adjusting to the lowlight enough to see that she was in a house of some sort. It was _filthy_. Every surface was cluttered, crumpled newspapers and empty beer bottles and all manner of nick nacks and detritus littering the floor and tables. She didn't immediately reach for the food, appetite still completely absent. Even after he insisted, she kept her hands to herself, only vaguely skimming over the food items before moving on to more pressing matters.

"They're going to worry when I don't come home. I have to go back."

_A little late for buyer's remorse, Lydia_ , she derided herself, eyeing the pretty silver shackle around her ring finger that dubbed her married.

"And I have to feed Percy. And I have homework. And‒ _oh no_ , I promised Adam I would bring him photos of the new windmill."

Ever so conveniently, her fuzzy mind chose now to remind her of all the reasons why this was a terrible idea. Still, at the core of her reasoning, the truth remained that this was the right thing to do. She just wished she had a little more agency here.

"But… they're not going to come for you anymore, are they? They _can't_ … right?"

* * *

"It was only a few hours. I think it's still only 'round seven in the livin' world, babes. But c'mon, get your food in‒ I'll force-feed ya if I gotta," he huffed. His fingers pushed at her mouth, the soft cream puff between them leaving flakes of puff pastry on her bottom lip that he was tempted to lick clean. "They'll all survive without ya, Lyds. This is my crypt. Ya like it? Didn't have lotsa time to clean up, but it's still home sweet home," he chuckled.

Betelgeuse didn't care too much about the state of his crypt. It fit him and who he was, and he didn't want to change the state of it for any reason. Well… Maybe _one_ reason. If Lydia asked him to do some housekeeping, he would grow a few more arms and get the place sorted out for her. He let her have some space as long as she ate little bits of food for him, occasionally holding out his favorite treats for her to take a bite of. Lydia was precious in her little shift, and he was eagerly eyeing the scraps of lingerie he could see underneath the sheer white fabric. He shook his head as he continued talking, a smile on his face.

"Nah, they're not gonna come after me for a while. Not unless I fuck up n' ya divorce me for whatever reason," the poltergeist offered. One of the chocolate-covered beetles was cracked out of its sugary shell, the insect's exoskeleton crunching under his teeth. He loved these juicy treats, and sharing them with Lydia made them even sweeter. Betelgeuse slurped up one of the cherry wasps as well, licking his lips.

Truthfully, he had no idea if just signing the license was enough. Maybe it was, or maybe the longer they were in the Netherworld, the more of a target he was. He sure hoped and was assuming that they needed to consummate it for him to be completely safe, but she was too weak right then for him to seriously consider fucking her. Even if the thought of her passed out on his dick was _delicious_ …

"Get some more food n' rest, baby girl. Then we can head back home," he hummed. A kiss was laid on her hair, leaving bits of beetle shell on the ebony fluff. After a moment he brushed them off with a sheepish grin, then patted the top of her head.

* * *

It had been a trying twenty-four hours. An emotional rollercoaster‒ for Lydia at least. Betelgeuse seemed cool as a cucumber through most of it, even a little giddy. Nerves kept her from eating, even up until the night before when she tossed and turned and couldn't find peace until storming out into the woods to save his soul. That ache was gone now, but a different kind had taken its place.

Under his gentle but pushy insistence, she ate. She tried to get away with only stomaching two creampuffs, but then he was back sticking his grubby claws around her lips and she had no choice but to partake more fully. A whole roast beef sandwich, several cherries, and a bottle of soda later, he was still trying to stuff food down her face and she had to put her foot down.

"Mmm!" She hummed in alarm, leaning back far out of reach from his arm until her head hit the pillow and her chest was pressed against the inner lining of the coffin, hidden from his leering gaze. "No more," she mumbled, half her face mushed into the cushion. "I'm full. Thank you."

All she had to do was _rest_ and then he would take her back home? That sounded too easy. What about all those threats back in the forest? Given her state of dress and the nonstop physical affection he showed her, _surely_ he meant to consummate their marriage. The thought kept her wound up tight, one eye always on him. Would he be joining her in that coffin? A full belly and cushy padding made for a comfortable mold as she reluctantly settled in, still internally debating if she should push harder, demand to go back home.

This wasn't so bad. She was so _tired_. Her eyes didn't want to close while he was still there, watching. Nevertheless, they lulled, deep and heavy.

"I do like it," she finally admitted on the verge of sleep, long lashes fluttering on her cheeks as she lost the battle. "You're crypt. It's creepy…"

* * *

He watched her the entire time she settled back in his coffin. Oh, he liked that sight. When she was full he sent the food away, puffing up like a peacock. He got her to eat, and now she was about to fall asleep in _his_ coffin in _his_ crypt. Betelgeuse felt like a solid husband, and it had only been a few hours.

He busied himself with a beer or two while he waited for Lydia to fall asleep. It didn't take long, the girl was running on fumes the entire time he fed her. He produced a blanket for her when he saw her small being wracked with shivers, tucking it around her to make sure she was warm. Once he knew she was asleep, Betelgeuse transformed. An enormous serpent slid into the coffin alongside her prone figure, pooling at her feet then curling coils loosely around her slim body.

"I love you, Lydia… My sssweet little wifey," he sighed against her inky hair, kissing her lips lightly before resting his cheek atop her delicate head. There, Betelgeuse fell asleep, content for the first time in what felt like millenia.


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia slept deep and long, tangled in a labyrinth of silk and gauze and scales. Only once she awoke many hours later did she realize what he had done. He left her enough wiggle room to stay comfortable, but she was well and truly trapped. A tube of solid muscle had squirmed between her legs, pushed up her slip, and wrapped fully around one thigh. The giant serpent extended up and around the curve of her hip, circling around her middle twice. He was so large, he overflowed from the strained borders of the coffin, hanging off the edge and sliding toward the ground. She couldn't even really feel the mattress anymore, too much of him beneath her to allow her to make contact.

It took Lydia a moment to remember where she was, to swallow a scream at the realization of what‒ _who_ ‒ was wrapped around her. It wouldn't do to wake him. The candles had burnt out, leaving the room entirely encompassed by dark. Once her sudden panic calmed, she could allow herself to appreciate the surreal quiet of the moment.

She was in the land of the dead, married, and missing for all intents and purposes to the living world. To make matters more pressing, her bossy supernatural husband had slipped into bed with her last night under the guise of the same beast he used to almost kill her father. Even more strange, her scaly trap never stopped moving, the smooth, foreign shell expanding and decompressing around her ever so slowly and evenly‒ _as if he was_ _ **breathing**_ _._

"B…?" She hushed when being alone with her thoughts became too much, squirming like a trapped little mouse. "I… This is weird… Are you awake…?"

* * *

Her squirming woke him slowly, along with the smell of her fear. Betelgeuse was sensitive in this form, acute senses devouring every movement and noise she made. His instincts flared. Coils shifted tighter around her, his eyes slitting and mouth opening in a hiss. A long tongue flickered out towards Lydia, reading her _deliciously_ hot body‒ the heat of life, of _prey_ ‒ and the scent that clung to her. Once Betelgeuse recognized that she was his wife, his Lydia, the pressure around her fragile body lessened. His little porcelain doll… he couldn't break her just yet.

With a heavy head, Betelgeuse manipulated the girl with his undulating muscles, bringing her up to where his chest would be in his human form. Though he imitated her breathing whilst they slept, the thundering of a heart was missing in his chest. There was no lack of reminder for Lydia that he was well and truly dead.

"Mornin'," he hissed, tongue curling under her chin. Her scent was strong there, in the soft skin behind her ears and down towards her collarbone. He breathed it in greedily.

"How'sss thisss weird? You _like_ sssnakesss."

He was quick to remind her that she didn't seem exactly comfortable with him as a man, the fact having solidified itself in his mind when he thought over the previous day. Perhaps she would reassure him after this, tell him she liked him in all forms. He doubted it, though. Betelgeuse's large head rubbed against her back, his hair a wild mess that tickled her skin. With a shake of his rattle tipped tail, candlelight flooded the crypt, illuminating his pale wife and how gargantuan he was compared to her.

"You're like a tiny moussse, Lydsss. Could eat you up," he laughed, mouth opening and venom tipped fangs showing as he chuckled at her expense.

* * *

In seconds, he had her maneuvered into the center of a thick stack of coils, like a precious egg in need of protection rather than prey meant for devouring. The change was minute but did wonders for her nerves. With a semblance of personal space now, light aiding her vision, she took him in. He was _enormous_ … but beautiful. His scales were sleek and dark, reflecting the red and orange glow from the various candles speckled around the room.

Unthinkingly, she dared to reach out and touch them‒ the way she would on any snake offering its friendship‒ only to snap her palm back as soon as it made contact when she realized what she was doing. They were smooth and cold. His head was just as she remembered; thrice as large as hers, disfigured monstrously, and vaguely resembling the man within.

His motivations here were highly suspect, but he was right. Perversely maybe, she _was_ more comfortable with him like this. Ninety-nine percent of the experiences Lydia had with snakes in her lifetime were positive... and here he was. The other one percent. But… he wouldn't kill her. Would he? No, he was just teasing. He could tell how out of her element she was and was capitalizing on it for the sake of a laugh.

_Jerk_.

"You said I could go home now."

It was foolish of her to remind him of his flimsy obligation when she was in such a vulnerable position, but whatever was going to happen was _going_ to happen, no matter what she said or did. His mind was already made up.

"After rest and eating. I did that. Can I go home now?"

* * *

Betelgeuse let out a rasping laugh as he squeezed her gently, enjoying the feel of her in his coils. Her tiny hand met his scales for a second and then the delicate digits were yanked away a moment after they made contact.

"You can touch, Lydsss. I won't eat ya," he promised with a sweet grin on his face. When she reminded him of his agreement with her, the poltergeist sighed. He _didn't_ want to leave the comfort of his crypt and didn't want to be rid of her just yet. No matter what she said, he knew he would end up being separated from his new wife by her parents, or by her stupid all-girls school.

Betelgeuse let her climb out of the coffin, scales melting and turning to his normal attire and form. On two legs he followed her, his arms wrapping tight around her hips.

"I dunno if ya _can_ go home. Wanna keep you here forever. Plus we gotta consummate the marriage… ain't real till we do that," he sighed against her hair. His hands wandered and he caught their reflections in the mirror. Her slip was rucked up smooth, cream-colored thighs, and he grasped a handful of her flesh with a smirk. The other hand teased along the shoulder strap, tugging it down one wispy arm.

"I need a kiss for incentive."

Betelgeuse was pushing every button he could find, trying with an edge of desperation to make her stay.

"Just a kiss, baby, n' I'll take ya home," he purred. The poltergeist spun her in his arms, dipping the girl in a cheesy attempt at romance. His fingers dug into her back as he leaned down for a kiss, taking it before she could voice her permission. She had to learn, after all, that her husband had needs, and they had to be fulfilled.

* * *

Lydia was barely free for scant moments before he had her captured again in strong, male human arms. It was simultaneously far too familiar and far too foreign. Just like that, she was back to the rigid, frightful thing he met in the forest, one wrong move away from either making a run for the hills or throwing slugs. The decision was made for her when he whirled her around and dipped low, grimy lips descending to steal a kiss.

This is what took the lights out of her last time when she passed out in his arms at the wedding altar. At least she was awake for this one. His lips themselves were rough, but he used them to ply gently at hers, wasting no time in introducing his too-long, overly enthusiastic tongue to the equation.

She lost it. No longer in control of her functions, it happened before she realized what she was doing and could stop herself.

_SLAP!_

It was a good, hard, stinging one, the palm of her tiny hand hitting him square in his chubby, stubbly cheek. _Oh no_. In the moments that followed, Lydia took advantage of his momentary stupor to scramble out of his arms and several feet out of reach; breaths fast and sharp, eyes wild. _That was so fucking stupid_. She was on his good side! He was being so nice to her! Why did she have to go and _fuck it up so royally?!_

"I'm sorry."

The little bleating apology came out so frustratingly genuine. Once more, she had gone against her word to him, and once more, all she had in her arsenal of excuses were inadequate apologies.

"I didn't _mean_ it."

_Deja Vu._

"I just‒ I‒ I‒" Caught in an embarrassing loop of stutters, it appeared she might be dangerously close to shedding tears.

"I don't think I _can._ "

* * *

Betelgeuse was _shocked_ when she smacked him. It was the very last thing he expected of her, and it was shocking how hard she had gotten him. His cheek stung, almost more than his pride. The fuck was _wrong_ with her? The first kiss, he could brush off as nerves, but this? This was _bullshit_. She had no reason to react like that, and he was pissed. Her little apologies didn't sound in his ears, didn't register in his brain. He stalked forward, backing Lydia up against one of the walls. The poltergeist didn't touch her, though, only ranged above her like an angry father‒ or, in his mind, an angry god.

"What the _fuck_ , Lydia? The fuck is yer damage, lil girl? Ya never wanna touch or even _look_ at me unless I'm a _fuckin'_ snake. Why is that, huh? Ya got some kinda fuckin' issue with men?"

His voice was venomous, words snarled out in a growl. If it wasn't clear from his eyes, it was completely shown by the anger in his voice. He gnashed his teeth and broke away from her, snatching up his cigarettes and lighting one. It calmed him a little, to puff away at the cancer stick, but he was still livid.

"I know it ain't cause I'm dead- you're a goddamn necro if I ever seen one. N' ya married me, so ya gotta feel at least a little bit o' somethin' for Daddy Juice," he added. His mouth curled into a smirk around his cigarette, and he breathed a ring of smoke at her.

"C'mon, _Lyddie_. Tell me why ya fuckin' _can't_ ‒" his voice climbed into a higher octave at the word‒ "even _touch_ me as a man."

Another smoke ring in her direction and he let out a barking laugh as an idea came into his mind.

"Unless you're a snake fucker. That it, huh? That li'l pussy only get wet for big scaly monsters?"

He knew he was being mean, knew he was being cruel to her, but he was hurting. How could he not? The girl he adored, who he would move mountains for, wouldn't even touch him if he was in his normal state. It was worse than he had imagined when he thought of marrying her, and he hated it.

* * *

He thought… she had feelings for him?

Did she?

Was she that _fucked up?_

While he ranted and raved, Lydia shrunk further down the wall, becoming smaller with each mean-spirited barb. She'd really done it now. They had a deal. She gave him her word. He _hated_ her. As soon as she realized how much that hurt, she knew how much she _did_ care about him. Those tears she'd been threatening to release finally upended, several crystalline drops staining her deathly pale countenance.

_Lyddie._

They fell hotter and faster at the horrible nickname. Ashamed, she hid in her knees, thin arms wrapped tight around her legs. _"I'm sorry,"_ she mouthed again when she dared to peek up and he was sneering down at her. What might be considered bravely, she pressed forward when he had been silent for too long and the terrible thoughts and memories in her head sought to consume her.

"I'm not‒" Her stutter, which was unapparent when she was at ease and speaking in an ordinary conversation, had her in a vicious chokehold that only added to her miserable shame and embarassment. "I'm not‒ I'm not‒"

She looked like she wanted to die. It took a long time and many swallowed breaths before she could string it together.

"I… am… not... a... _virgin_."

It was wrong of him to dress her in these pretty white underthings, for more than the obvious reasons.

"When‒ when I was‒ was little‒ I‒ I‒ _I'm sorry‒_ "

He was still so _so_ angry. Even without being able to summon the courage to face him head on, she could feel it permeating the air, chilling her to her bone. Did he consider himself cheated? Lydia didn't blame him if he did. He could do better than her.

"It‒ it happened _a lot_ ‒ and‒ and I'm _messed up and I'm sorry I hit you, it was an accident, please don't be mad."_

* * *

His rage cooled in an instant when she confessed. His throat tightened up as the image came together. _How? Who?!_ When she was so small, so hurt… and that stutter… It was painful to listen to and in that moment he hated himself for being himself more than he ever had before. He fucked up, he _really_ fucked up. If he had a heart it would have squeezed tight and broken into pieces.

When he pieced everything together in the way he was pretty sure she was putting it, Betelgeuse let a long, pained sigh escape him, every bit of rage and ugliness leaving him with it.

"Lydia…" his voice was quiet, gentle. She had been used in the past, by the men around her. Oh, he was a fucking idiot.

The poltergeist moved to her slowly, sinking to his knees in front of her and gathering the tiny girl in his arms.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't… I didn't think. Don't wanna hurt you, Lyds. Wanna make you happy," he murmured into her hair. "Don't give a shit 'bout you not bein' a virgin‒" even if he _did_ , in his deep dark soul, seethe at having her cherry stolen, but not at her.

"‒ don't gotta be pure for me, Lyds. Still hot to me. Don't even give a shit that ya hit me. Water off a duck an' all that horse shit."

Betelgeuse's voice was reedy as he spoke, muffled by the inky black of her hair.

"Don't gotta be a man. Can be the snake if ya want… Anythin' to make you happy. Want ya t'be comfortable. Ain't mad, promise. Just tell me whatcha want, baby girl."

* * *

Lydia's poor heart fluttered like a hummingbird in her chest the entire time he held her, unable to find rest yet in his arms. Maybe someday she would, but not today. Faster, keener than she would care to admit, she gave her consent to the ungodly act he was suggesting. Human flesh was clammy with _sweat_ and _hair_ and _stench…_

His scales were cool to the touch and beautiful, no pimples or pockmarks or other imperfections.

"I can be better," she promised, horrified that the disgusting truth was out in the air now. "I can learn. Just… not now. This time."

In an act of good faith, despite how rigid and fearful she was in his tender arms, trembling like a leaf, a little white hand came up to grasp his lapel‒ touching him of her own volition.

"Please… _change_ … I'm so sorry, B…"

* * *

That singular touch of her hand had him melting. He knew it before but now it was ingrained deeply into his head that he would do _anything_ for her. His wife… His Lydia. Betelgeuse melted into the long coils and scales, feet of muscles curling around the delicate girl in his lap.

He rubbed his head against hers, hissing quietly. The rattle at the end of his tail sounded as well, a harmony for her to relax to. Though he didn't need to breathe, he moved himself to simulate breathing, another act to calm Lydia down.

"Anythin' for my wife," he murmured. Betelgeuse slunk to his coffin, a length of him holding Lydia tight as he moved. Mimicking the form they took the night before, he curled tight around the girl and rubbed himself fully against her.

"We have all the time in the world for you to be better… I know you can get comfortable with me."

He didn't mention that he had every faith in her, that he would wait as long as possible for Lydia to settle into her new life. She couldn't know how soft he was getting. It would _ruin_ his reputation.

* * *

The constant, steady thrumming of his rattle lulled her quite effectively. The sweet things he whispered were like poetry in that guttural voice of his, soft and saccharine just for her. She felt _high_ , dizzy and wrapped up in his affection. The little frightened bird in her chest was resting now, once tense bunches of muscle soft and liquefied beneath the thin layer of silk separating her from his scales.

"Are you… hypnotizing me…?"

The question came minutes later into his sweet nothings, once she was thoroughly massaged by the strong coils tensing and untensing around her in a precise and specific rhythm. She giggled at the prospect, not at all offended. The long hem of her angel-white little slip had ridden up with all his undulations, exposing sensitive, creamy thighs for the beast to rub against and savor the warmth.

"I feel funny… but it's nice. This is _nice_ … It's like _cuddling_ …" Again, she released a bell-like gasp of laughter, veritably amused by this for some reason.

"I had a pet snake once. He was a California King named Rex. He was so beautiful… but he got out once and scared Delia and she made me get rid of him."

Sadness colored her tone again, but at least this time it wasn't paired with that heartbreaking panic she really couldn't help.

* * *

The fact that he was hypnotizing her a bit wasn't something he expected her to figure out. But then again, she was always such a smart human. Betelgeuse didn't reply, just kept it up until he felt her melt against him. He wished she could have handled him having his hands on her‒ the poltergeist desperately wanted to run his fingers through her hair and over every inch of her body.

He settled for the sweet warmth against his scales, moving his head around her as he watched the slip go higher and higher. The sight and smell of her uncovered panties had him almost purring. Oh, that was delicious. His tongue ran along her thigh, his sigh echoing around her.

"Can be yer new Rex-sss… Won't wear a collar or nothin' though," he chuckled. His lips met her hair, placing a kiss on the back of her head then her neck. When she moved, the pressure made his muscles ache, her thighs rubbing against the front of his cloaca. Had he any blood left to, he would flush as his dicks slid out slowly, tacky pre smearing against Lydia's skin.

"Look what ya do to me, lil missss," he breathed, shifting her so her thighs framed him, dicks bobbing softly between her legs.

* * *

Vaguely, Lydia was aware that she probably should have been upset that he was manipulating her like that, but all she could find was gratitude. He was making this so _easy_ for her, and he really didn't have to, not according to the terms of that verbal contract they made in the woods.

"Thank you…" she expressed dreamily and nonsensically while he kissed over her, careful not to let his mouthful of dagger-like fangs prick her. Her thighs rubbed together at the introduction of two sticky, large obstructions between them.

"What's uhh… what's _that_ …?"

Blinking blearily, she attempted to move against his hold and investigate only to find her muscles squeezed and pulled into mush, rendering them practically useless. With great effort, she managed to pull her arms down between her legs, grasping each syrupy dick in a weak little hand. Only once she was holding them did she realize _exactly_ what they were, pale pink lips puckering into a surprised "o". She would have released him out of propriety, but he shuddered around her, pulling her compact for a breathless moment, and her arms and hands were pressed to slide against his genitals and between her legs.

Her lace scrap of a thong was quickly soaked through by the abundance of secretion his alien cocks produced. An ultra-sensitive area between her legs was being stimulated where it wasn't before, and Lydia suddenly realized that it had been _crying_ out to be touched for several minutes now. With a pitiful little moan, she dug deep for the energy to squeeze her shaky legs around him and press harder, make it feel better.

"Oh‒ oh _God…_ "

* * *

He hissed like the serpentine creature he was in that moment, shaking and contracting at the feeling of her delicate hands on him. The slick that coated him was quick to cover her thighs and hands, his body rocking into hers. She was covered in so much fabric, it was starting to annoy the softer scales on his belly.

He twisted his bride around and sunk his teeth into her slip, ripping the fabric into shreds. Underneath was a translucent bra, the sky pink of her nipples showing through the creamy lace, and the white of her panties.

"Ya look good enough ta eat, Lydsss," he hissed before dragging her thong down her legs. Once she was bare Betelgeuse took the chance to bury his mouth between her soft thighs. His tongue ran a long stripe over her, lips pinched around her clit in an experimental suck. When she cried out and bucked against him, he did it again, tongue pressing inside her.

He was lucky for his venom to be an aphrodisiac when he wasn't on the attack and made sure to push as much inside the girl. The poltergeist wanted her relaxed and happy to make this good for her. When she was soaking wet and right on the edge of her first orgasm, he pulled his mouth away, wanting to see her face when she realized it wouldn't be that easy.

"Beg me," Betelgeuse growled, the tips of his fangs hovering above the soft skin of her thigh. "Beg me to cum, Lydsss."

* * *

Lydia was no longer her own. Everything she had was dedicated to him; her body, her mind, her will. There was no disobeying him, even if she had the thought to. He surrounded her weak, fragile form from every angle, and even if it weren't for that, every motion and tug and jerk took so much effort on her part. Why on earth would she expend energy trying to escape when the things he was doing felt _so_ good?

He could do things no mere man could do; devouring her from the center, teasing both her entrances with his slippery cocks, and keeping her arms and legs bound all with a single body. The time came for her to beg, her bottom half panging at the sudden still as he retreated, and she cried out achingly for him like a sad, desperate thing.

"Please!" His ghastly head floated above hers, drinking in each sob. For once, she put in precious energy to reach for him and kiss his sharp, dangerous mouth, but he was so heavy.

" _Please!_ I can't‒" Her hips writhed into the emptiness, one of her little tits jostling out of her bralette with the motion. All the while big honey eyes pled with him, glistening with tears of frustration while old, sad tears still dried on her cheeks.

"I _need_ it… Please…? I'll be good! I'll be so good for you… just please… _please…_ "

* * *

He was drooling enough that his coffin would be soaked under them, but Betelgeuse didn't give a shit. He had a pretty little flower in his coils and was going to split her apart- something that had him squeezing Lydia tight. When he heard her back give a pop he loosened his grip and made sure she wasn't hurt before he kissed her. Spit and slick coated his tongue as he nudged it into her mouth.

"Ssspread yourssself… Gonna take a lot to fit all o' thessse," he chuckled. Betelgeuse let her have control of one of her arms and moved himself around to watch from over her shoulder. When her fingers slid to her cunt, he let the rough rattle at the end of his tail rest against a pale thigh. Even if he _ached_ to shove himself into her and just _take_ , he couldn't. She'd be hurt, and he didn't want that. So he would take his time with her and stretch her proper.

As he nudged his rattle against her core, he hissed praise in the girl's ear. "You look beautiful… Preciousss little morsssel for me to eat up. You're alwaysss ssso good for me- never complainin' no matter what I do or sssay." The first few segments of his rattle slid inside her, shaking just so to vibrate inside her. Though he didn't feel anything in it, Betelgeuse's dicks still wept from the sight of her being stretched on him.

After his rattle, the slide of his cock inside her cunt was easy. He moved her so she was riding him, letting gravity do the work of lowering his human bride onto him. The rattle was moved to her other hole, pressing between her cheeks to tease against the pucker. "Think you can take me in both your holesss? Not fair for one to have fun while the other sssuffersss," he cooed in her ear, bucking up into Lydia.

"Would be _really_ sssexy if you could, Lydsss…"

* * *

That he might want to take her _there_ was a concept that, stupidly enough, had not even occurred to the hypnotized and sex-drugged Lydia.

"I don't‒ I don't know," she rasped disjointedly, still gritting her teeth through the shock of her impalement. He was sweet about it, took his time and didn't rush, but there was only so much that could be done. Through the dizzying haze of lust and pleasure, she felt a distinct twinge of pain as he took her, of the natural ache that came from something so big forcing its way into something so small. It was a sobering experience, one that reminded her of how much more painful the act he was suggesting was likely to be…

… but it didn't hurt _now_. The gentle pressure at her backside was nice even, pleasurable and non-threatening as she grasped randomly at his scales for purchase, weak thighs trembling around her cylindrical mount. This was an unnatural thing they were doing. Their bodies didn't fit right together, weren't designed to, and didn't _want_ to. Well, hers didn't. His was eager enough, slick and slimy and slithering into places it knew it didn't belong. Despite the knowledge that she was filthy and wrong for allowing this to happen, the sin was a _delicious_ one.

Once she grew accustomed to her rightful place with much wiggling and discomforted little noises, she fell into a clumsy but desperate rhythm riding him, her little feet finding purchases in awkward places in order to push up just so that gravity could pull her back down‒ inch by thick, succulent inch. In conjunction with such raw sensation, his praise and compliments gave her that extra glow of confidence, that extra push she needed to feel so damn _good_ on the inside that it overflowed to her outsides and triggered an explosive first orgasm.

Every last muscle, previously so sweet and pliant against him, clenched up tight while her jaw dropped in a silent scream, blunt little human fingernails scratching ineffectually into his diamond-coated scales. A solid answer to his invasive request filled the air, though it was not likely Lydia was cognizant she was giving permission to anything.

_"Yes!"_

* * *

The slick he was leaking was enough to cover his rattle, the appendage pushing inside her ass slowly. The pressure of her hole being spread was doubled by the ache of him in her slick cunt. He expected her to be tight like this, but when she suddenly clenched in her first orgasm, he felt like he was the one being constricted. Betelgeuse let out a long hiss, fangs dragging down her porcelain back and leaving long, thin lines of blood.

The stain of the red against her was a delicious sight, and his tongue rolled slow over the hot liquid. Copper filled his mouth, and he made more drags down her back to get more of the taste.

"That'sss my good girl… Takin' me ssso good. Even comin' for me- sssuch a good lil' girl for me," he hissed. Again, he wished he had hands so he could reach between her legs and bring her more pleasure by rubbing her clit. Instead, he worked with what he had. With some maneuvering, he managed to slip his soft underbelly between her thighs, making sure she ground down on him with every downward thrust of her delicate hips.

When he felt she was stretched enough, Betelgeuse rested his head on her shoulder.

"Wanna help me ssslide in, Lydsss? Don't have handsss," he chuckled. His voice was the same gravely rasp as normal, tongue flicking out with each slithering, elongated consonant. "Go ssslow ssso you don't hurt yourssself."

He was intent on getting both cocks in her and filling her to the brim, bringing her the most pleasure he possibly could in the process. Already, Betelgeuse was addicted to the tight squeeze when she came. He wanted to wring as many of them out of her as possible just to feel it again.

* * *

She let loose the sweetest little scream when his fangs tore into her, high-pitched and crystal-clear and laced with fractures of pleasure that were too intense to not shine through. Everything was so... _wet_. Lydia could barely distinguish between sweat and blood and cum, was only able to hold onto him and keep doing this due to his punishing and unyielding grip on her.

The last of her flimsy lace coverings were ripped away when his teeth came for her a second time, the pristine white fabric tainted with a flowering crimson stain caught out of the corner of her eye. But then he pushed his rattle deeper at the same time a rough tongue dragged along the thin lashes marring her flawless back and she was too overwhelmed with sensation to give the sudden and alarming presence of blood any further thought.

This was fine. There was too much good for the bad to hurt too much.

"O-okay…"

Shakily, at his hissing direction, she slumped forward over him until her front was plastered along his underbelly, ass in the air and pussy still mounted, the obscenely innocent hug giving her the purchase and balance necessary to reach back and do what he was asking of her. She knew that it was going to hurt and feel strange, but the option to simply ignore his request didn't occur to her.

He didn't need to hypnotize her all that much to turn her into the mindless, wanton slave she was now. Just a little push, that's all it was. Just a little something to clear her mind, relax her body, and keep her open to the possibilities.

* * *

Every noise from the smallest whimper to the scream she let out had him panting like a dog. It was so unfair for her to be so delicious. He was ruined for anyone else, ruined for any snatch that wasn't Lydia. Betelgeuse stilled when he pressed inside her ass, huffing against her crimson-stained back as he felt her squeezing him. His head hurt, and it felt like his eyes would pop out of his skull at any second. This was heaven and hell all in one, he decided. A perfect experience that he _never_ wanted to have an end.

He moved before she was ready, undulating under the girl and shoving himself deep inside both her holes. He couldn't get enough… the feeling of her little tummy bulging against his scales had him drooling even more. He fucked her hard, taking every inch of her and every noise she let out. At this point he couldn't care if she was hurting‒ the only thought in his head how hot she was around him. Instinct had taken over and his mind was screaming to _breed_ her.

"Ssso… Ssso fuckin' good for me," he whined, his cheek pressed against hers. Betelgeuse wanted to grab her hips, bruise her ivory skin and make her squeal but hands were off-limits so his coils would have to do. Yards of his serpentine body curled around her, squeezing in all the right places and manipulating her. Soon Lydia was just a doll he had control over, bouncing her on both cocks and making her belly pout from fullness.

"Taking me ssso good… Look real tasssty with a big fat belly." He emphasized his point with a deep thrust inside her, pushing her head down so she could see how much he had stretched her out.

* * *

Lydia tried her best, she really did. Put in a respectable effort, tried to move with him, be a corresponding and active participant despite the pain, despite her fearful misgivings, lack of experience, and talent. But… she was only human. Just a little human girl trying to make love to a monster. There was only so much she had to offer up for sacrifice, and he had eagerly taken it all.

In the wake of his ferocity, there was little Lydia could do for herself other than to just surrender what was left of her agency, go limp to the squeezing coils and brutal thrusting, and embrace the agony, euphoria, and everything in between. Barely lucid, she floated along atop him during her ravishment, lashes fluttering on each thrust in sweet, pure contrast to the way his pupils were thinning further and further in a carnivorous frenzy.

He seemed more beast than man at this point, and if Lydia had more of her senses available, she might have feared he would give in to a different sort of temptation and sink those fangs deeper than her humanity could afford‒ but that never happened. They only ever glided just so over the delicate porcelain tissue, _just enough_ to draw blood and make marks that wouldn't scar.

She felt so full she might die, letting loose a mournful, overwhelmed sound when he easily tilted her lax head forward, the monster proudly showcasing the way he was rearranging her guts to make room for him. _He was going to kill her_. Not a terrible way to go, all things considered, and death didn't feel immediately imminent, so any type of panic or protest seemed… exhausting. Pointless.

When he wasn't actively using it against her, his rattle maintained that hypnotic, steady rhythm, sounding smooth and calm over the hectic rush of blood in her ears, the squelching of their parts joining and separating. Her next orgasm built up in time with it, sneaking up on her and exploding with a melodious, but weak, cry, forcing tired muscles to start milking him for seed again.

"Betel‒ geuse," she whimpered on the comedown, the syllables stuttered with his relentless pumping, his tail-end repeatedly slamming between her thighs to rut her with single-minded greedy hunger.

"It's too much," she begged, unaware of what she was asking for and certainly not expecting any kind of mercy or reprieve. Nevertheless, beg she did.

"I can't. I _can't._ I'm gonna‒ oh‒ _oh!"_

Yet another climax took her quickly after the previous one, fresh tears dampening her already wet cheeks at its near-painful intensity, slick cherry lips parted as if begging to be filled with another cock she couldn't handle.

_"Please!"_

* * *

This was almost too much, even for him. Every movement inside Lydia had his brain pulsing and eyes burning, the tight squeeze of her around him making Betelgeuse lose his fucking mind. She mewled about it being too much and then had back to back orgasms around him‒ obviously, she liked _something_ about him taking her in such a ferocious manner.

His tongue slid up her cheeks, catching each tear and trailing slick saliva over her face, then her lips. He teased the appendage between those pretty lips, brain firing the scenario of her sucking on one of his cocks. Realistically she'd never be able to fit more than half of one in her mouth… but _shit_ was it hot to imagine her gagging on both of them. Maybe he could wean her into sucking him off when he was a little more human.

He hissed as his tail stilled, fangs sinking into her shoulder a bit deeper than before.

"You sssay my name again and I'll leave you without my cum, babesss… Can't be disssappearin' when I'm ballsss deep in your holesss."

Betelgeuse's tone was one of warning, his rasping hiss full of annoyance, as well as a hint of fear. He was afraid of her slipping up, sending him away… He didn't _really_ want to gag her but if he had no choice… When it seemed Lydia had calmed and quieted down, he rolled his hips into hers once more.

"Pleassse _what_ , Lydia? Want me to fill your pusssy up? Ussse your words, baby…"

He was being a bit mean with torturing her with the slow drag of his cocks and then telling her to speak, he knew it. But the way her mouth fell open and her eyes crossed at the feeling had him aching for release. Betelgeuse tipped her head up, rattle catching in her hair and tugging the ebony strands. Once again his eyes were swirling, hypnosis settling in her head like a weighted blanket.

"Tell me what you need, Lydsss," he encouraged, voice sweet even as his pace picked up speed. "Nn… Let Daddy know what you're beggin' for, sssweet girl."

* * *

Everything slowed down again when her hair was tugged back, a lily-white swan-like throat bared for the slaughter while dazed honey eyes met swirling pools of liquid jade and citrine. His pretty gemstone eyes kept her enraptured, watching the waves of color fracture together and apart, blending and separating in a constant, ever-changing flow.

Her lips started moving without her permission, spewing without inhibition whatever truths she had to offer that she thought might please the beautiful, horrific beast.

"Please cum," she pled, tired arms finding the strength to move languidly across an expanse of scales‒ _petting_. "I can't keep up… I _want_ to… but I _can't_."

It was true, she did. Maybe she didn't when they started, but this was a foreign and exotic world of which she held an untapped curiosity for that was now awake and thriving. Maybe a less worthless and pathetic bride would be able to handle him, but poor Lydia was struggling. Unfortunately for her, her sadist of a husband seemed to enjoy that part of their tryst the best.

"You're so beautiful," she continued to babble mindlessly while tiny little fingers stroked his scales even as his thrusting picked back up in earnest. The pull of her hair kept her back arched dramatically, insides pulled nice and compact for his violent violation of her person. But she was good for him and stayed pliable to his pushing and pulling, entirely too forgiving and tolerant of the whole affair.

"I'm sorry I can't fuck right…"

_Cum_ and _Fuck_ were dirty words that the rabid serpent had never heard fall from Lydia's polite pink lips before, but hypnosis was a hell of a drug.

"I'll get better. _Please cum_ _inside me_ …"

That last little bit was interesting. _Specific_. Perhaps she was just parroting her puppetmaster but without the virtue of clear mind and conscience free of his will, he would never know.

* * *

Oh, she was the definition of perfection. Her breathless words and her sweet cries had his breath hitching. That begging was music to his ears. Having this darling human under his control, in his coils and bending to his will was better than any drug he had tried in all of his years‒ both living and dead. His fangs ran over her throat, ghosting over her jugular for the thrill of it. His tongue followed to dull the sting, and he licked up the tang of her sweat once again.

"You're ssso sssweet, Lydia. Sssayin' all thossse nasssty thingsss to me, beggin' for my cum..."

When she clutched around him again, tighter than anything he'd felt before, he couldn't help himself. The flood of cum from both cocks inside her was something that couldn't be expected to stay in the girl's body. It was a lot, and she was just so little. Sure enough, it dripped from her onto the cushions of the coffin underneath them and his lower scales as well. The knowledge of filling her so deeply and claiming her in every way had Betelgeuse on cloud nine. Even if he may not have been the first to do this, he was still a cut above whatever men that had Lydia before. He was her husband and a fucking _beast_ the first time he took her, for fuck's sake.

He shook against Lydia, cocks jumping inside her and making her twitch each time. The high when he came was something he liked the most, and with Lydia, it was an even higher feeling. It was addicting‒ and he didn't mind it one bit. Betelgeuse sighed against her shoulder when he was finished, licking his lips at the creamy mess between her thighs and the feeling of her exhausted body slumping against him.

"You're sssuch a good girl… Ssso proud of you, Lydsss. Took my dicksss ssso well, like a fucking pro," he murmured, rubbing his cheek on her hair. She smelled of sex and sweat, no longer her sweet perfume and shampoo. His lips met her hair in a kiss, his body moving to slip out of her ruined holes. He _really_ hoped she wasn't too broken from this… but then again, under those circumstances that meant he would get to keep her around more under the guise of caring for her wrecked body.

"Ya did _very good_ , baby. 'M real happy with ya."


	5. Chapter 5

Like a fog lifting, clarity returned to Lydia as the sated beast's rattle stilled, the swirling pools in his eyes calming. She was never _not_ cognizant throughout the ordeal. She knew what was happening, remembered every moment of it. Certainly _felt_ it all, but now she was feeling even more, parts of her tensing in pain when she regained control of herself and attempted foolishly to sit up, crawl out of the mess of scales sticky with bodily fluids.

Of course, she didn't make it far, letting out a low, long groan and collapsing back over a thick, treetrunk like expanse of tubular muscle. Now that there wasn't any rapturous, euphoric pleasure to distract her, she could distinctly feel the sting of all the long papercuts across her back and throat, as well as a line of puncture wounds encompassing her right shoulder, these bleeding more generously than any of the others; three pretty little holes in front and three in the back, each a perfect match for the serpent's dominant fangs.

That was all just her torso. She was too nervous to trail blood-slicked fingers lower and assess the damage there.

"Be‒" she stuttered over his name as he kissed over her gentle and loving, hissing praise. Nearly making the mistake of saying it full and proper, the offense that earned her the nastiest of her injuries, she defaulted to _something else_ at the last minute, a nickname that wasn't nearly as offensive or scary as his cursed name, and didn't carry any of the negative connotations Lydia had come to associate with it.

"Beej?"

It was pure and sweet, like something a child would name an especially adored pet, and she decided in that instant that if he didn't hate it, it was all she was ever going to call him from now on.

"I think… I think I need to go home now."

There was no way he had a clean, functioning bathroom here in this crypt with a disinfected tub to soak in. He wouldn't have painkillers or creams or balms or rags. She couldn't expect him to know how to take care of _this_ , and she couldn't blame him for being responsible for the carnage in the first place. After all, she asked for it. She could have been normal, done things the way he offered initially, but she was a _freak_ and _damaged_ , and with that came its burdens.

* * *

"Not goin' home yet, Lydsss. Gonna keep ya here n' let ya ressst up."

Slowly, his scales melted away until his human form returned. He needed arms to get her limp body around, after all. Scooping the girl up, Betelgeuse climbed out of the ruined coffin and went to another portion of the crypt. A quick snap and there was a clean tub for her filled with steaming hot water. He let Lydia test the water, changing it to make it comfortable, and then placed her inside.

"Got soaps n' shit for ya. Salts, too. I know chicks dig all that frou frou shit," he grunted. Ever the asshole, even when sweet, disgust was clearly evident in his tone. He couldn't fathom _why_ she‒ or anyone‒ would want to bathe but knew better than to press the matter.

The poltergeist did put on gloves before he smoothed a disinfectant on her wounds, to make her feel better and not be afraid of getting an infection or something. As long as she was comfortable and happy, he was happy. Proud of himself as he did so, he made quick work of cleaning and patching her up, then departed to let her tend to herself as necessary.

While she washed up and got herself relaxed, Betelgeuse set about fixing up his room. Gone was the cum stained coffin, replaced with a new one that was double the size. Lydia deserved a fresh set, and they both needed the room. Candles popped around the crypt and covered the musty smell while he brushed through his hair a bit and switched to a slightly cleaner shirt.

He returned when Lydia called for him using the new nickname she decided on. One arm held her up and the other draped a fluffy black towel over her thin shoulders. Betelgeuse let her put her hair up in a towel, and helped her shuffle back to the main section. Again, it was quick work to dry her and replace her slip with a soft spider silk nightgown and matching lingerie.

"Smell good," he offered as he dried her hair with the towel, not taking any fighting back or no's as an answer. He was going to care for her, make her happy and adored. Even if she did feel like a doll or his little plaything, he didn't care. He was going to pamper her, dammit.

* * *

Somewhere beneath the lethargy and lingering ache, Lydia appreciated his efforts. Nevertheless, being a handmaiden was not the ghoul's calling. His grooming was rough and unpracticed. When he smoothed antibiotic ointment along the cuts, he did so impatiently and without any gentility, making Lydia cringe deeper into the water when he ran his palm over her‒ like she was a car in need of a good wax.

"It's supposed to go on _after_ ‒" his gloved hand slapped down a bit too hard, rubbing it in, and she bit her tongue. Rather than toughing this out a second time, she would just do it again for herself after she was out and the water had finished rinsing off his rough work.

She was grateful when he departed to flit around the space, tidying up marginally and sprucing himself. Quiet, wary of accidentally provoking more romantic attention, she kept to herself and tried to keep her splashing minimal as she took her time shampooing and conditioning her hair. He was always in her sights. Or alternatively, she was in his. The tub was claw-footed, independent from any plumbing or pipes, and tucked away in the corner of the open-space concept crypt, an antique folding partition providing a shred of mock privacy.

When the time came to get out‒ Lydia didn't know how long she soaked, the water never cooled and Betelgeuse didn't have any clocks‒ she tried to hobble out on her own only to splash clumsily back into the water when her muscles failed her. It was embarrassing, but she called for assistance and he came, every bit as crass and rough as before when he pulled her up out of the tub by her underarms and saw to getting her dried and dressed. Given vague permission now, he was quick to bully her around some more, pushing her into a rickety wooden chair next to a matching table so that he could set about playing with her hair.

She supposed he was trying to dry it, and maybe he was a little bit, but all his jostling was just making knots that pulled at her scalp. On top of that, the tight, lacy lingerie beneath the nightgown he magicked her into was irritating and painful on her litany of bruises and slices.

_"Stop!"_ She snapped eventually when he continued to ignore her meek, shy whispered suggestions and nonverbal cues. The brush he was trying to pull through her copious, knotted mop of black hair was stuck in the midpoint. Scowling severely, she slapped his hand away to carefully unravel it from where it was stuck. Once it was free, she brought it to the ends and started brushing herself properly, gently, the inky strands quickly smoothing under her ministrations.

"You're too _rough_ ," she criticized, staring down at the dusty table to avoid looking him in the face while giving her scathing review. "You have to start at the ends and work up‒ and it wouldn't be so tangled if you hadn't practically given me a noogie with the towel. All you have to do is squeeze the moisture out. It's not hard."

_Stupid boy. Didn't he know anything?_

"This underwear _hurts_. It's too tight, it stings. I don't want to wear it. I want to go home."

* * *

Every complaint grated on his nerves. The soft, dove-like coo of her voice even pissed him off after she had said _"no, this way,"_ too many times for his taste. She didn't appreciate this at all, why the _fuck_ was he doing it? The human had everything to complain about and nothing to thank him for. If this was what their marriage was going to be‒ complaints about everything he tried to do nice for her‒ he was ready for a divorce.

The last straw was when she snapped at him. With a growl, Betelgeuse shoved the brush into her little hands, giving Lydia a scowl in the mirror over her shoulder.

"Fuckin' do it yerself then, see if I do anythin' nice for you again," he hissed. "Never done a moment of this shit in either my life _or_ afterlife 'n you just fuckin' _nag_. No 'Beej that's too rough' or 'here Beej can I show you'‒ 's just all complaining."

He was being stupid. He knew it. The him inside of him was rattling around in his ribcage, howling for his mouth to shut and his words to stop. But this little human, millennia younger than he, had the fucking gall to treat him like he was some imbecile and beneath her. Little fucking princess in her ivory tower, brought down to nothing and roughed up by a nasty, illiterate peasant. Fuck _that_.

Betelgeuse didn't say another word to her, turning his back and stomping to his chair. Fuck his little wifey. She could primp herself if she wanted, he was going to relax. Let her deal with the ache and pains of fucking him later on her own.

Well. Maybe not that far. He would still be at her beck and call, just… Less eager than normal. He slumped in his chair and turned on the sports, half paying attention as he grabbed a beer. Cracking it open he took a long drink, grunting as the carbonation went up his nose. Stupid beer. Stupid Lydia.

Stupid him.

* * *

She flinched violently when he snapped back thrice as hard as her frustrated little slip. _Stupid_. She shouldn't have lost her temper on him like that. He was only trying to help. It just _hurt_. Now her insides hurt too, tummy curdling cold and rancid as he stalked away grumbling, the static of the television the only sound filling the air after the _pop_ of yet another bottle of beer being uncapped. He'd had several so far.

Could he get drunk? Was he a _mean_ drunk like some of Mother's friends were? She tried to keep brushing her hair, but the more her nerves gnawed at her the more her hand shook, to the point that she couldn't anymore and had to abandon it half-tangled. She felt she might burst into sobbing, ugly tears or just implode on the spot. She felt so _ugly_ , so _dirty_ and _used_. Not at all like how a freshly "deflowered" bride was supposed to feel.

All she wanted to do was crawl back into the now empty tub and slip underwater until the bubbles stopped, until its scalding heat burned away all her filth and impurities. Instead, after she got too cold and the confining discomfort of the lingerie she never asked for became too much, she made her way on trembling, limping legs back to the coffin in the corner‒ ready to lick her wounds like a beat dog.

For a precious small while, Lydia had entertained the concept that he was _in love with her_. It made the most sense. He was just so _into her_ , more than she could ever recall anyone being… well. That wasn't true. She could remember men that were similarly attracted to her. Too many, and she remembered too well. They didn't love her, and neither did Betelgeuse. She was just a convenient mediocre _fuck_.

Bile pushed at the back of her throat and those tears finally made an appearance. They were quiet, and Lydia tried her best to tamper her panicked breathing, anything to keep from garnering his attention again. He already thought she was a shrill nagging harpy. No need to add "cry baby" to her ever-growing list of faults and deficiencies. _What was she going to do now?_ He was supposed to take care of her. How was she going to get home? How was she supposed to explain any of this to her parents... if she ever even got there?

Very slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible‒ _be invisible, do not attract attention, do not make yourself a target, Lydia‒_ she removed the lingerie without taking off her too-pretty nightgown, slipping both the invasive uncomfortable thong and the overly tight bra down under the skirt and through the armholes, discrete and without showing anything. _Not that he was looking_. He hadn't looked at her once since deciding she wasn't worth it anymore.

Again, Lydia didn't blame him.

* * *

He was acutely aware of everything she did. The beer and the TV did nothing to distract him. Every shift of her hair, her nightgown, even the little hiccups she tried so hard to muffle… They were imprinted in his memory, in one ear and buried in his brain. It hurt to be so mean. It hurt to hear her crying over his treatment of her. He was a stupid fucking idiot.

When she pulled off the lingerie, the soft sound of the lace and fabric falling onto the dirty ground of his crypt, he _wanted_ to get up. He wanted to be angry, yell at her, tell her off for ruining them. A nasty part of him even wanted to give her a taste of what his slaps felt like. But he just sat there. Fat beer gut out, commercials droning in his head, foreign warring emotions tearing him in different directions.

Shame and regret were winning.

She was quiet after an hour and a half.

He stood slowly and turned his TV off, looking at his coffin. She was in the tiniest ball she could manage, shaking against the cold of the crypt. When Betelgeuse stepped close he saw the redness of her eyes, the tear tracks on her delicate face. _He fucked up_. Pulling a blanket out of thin air, he knelt next to Lydia to wrap her up gently, manipulating the girl so he could turn her into a tiny burrito.

Betelgeuse's hand cupped her pale cheek, fingers running over her skin. He didn't deserve her… One finger ran over her neck and shoulder, pressing against a bite mark. When she winced, making a distressed mewl, he jerked away as if shocked, eyes wide. She was sleeping, so whatever that was had to be a real show of emotion, no farce meant to manipulate him like the dead were so prone to doing.

At that moment, it settled heavily in his head that she _did_ feel pain. She was human and alive and she _meant it_ when she said things hurt. He forgot it, being in the Netherworld so long… and he had caused her hurt. On purpose.

Fuck was he an awful husband.

She continued to whimper and cry out like an injured baby, something small and delicate. Something he should never hurt. He was going to wake her, to apologize and give her an opportunity to yell at him, punish him the way he deserved, but paused when the sound of heels on the stone sounded. The smell of cigarettes hit him before the sight of her slit throat. Every bit of irrational rage and bitterness he had buried for Lydia resurfaced in an instant for the caseworker.

"Juno. Fuck off."

* * *

Juno was _pissed_.

The past twenty-four hours had been a nonstop shitshow circus of trying to track down the misplaced poltergeist after he disappeared without a trace from his high-security cell in lock-up. As his caseworker, everything he did was ultimately _her_ responsibility, and this was the motherload of all fuck ups.

"What did you just say to me, you sonuvabitch?"

She spat at full volume upon his grim, lackluster greeting‒ as if she was merely an annoying Jehova's witness knocking on his door and not the harbinger of his doom. _Where the fuck did he get off?_ Mouth wide, taking in a deep breath what made the wrinkles around her eyes concave further, Juno was fully prepared to rip him a new asshole with a verbal lashing that would shake the walls‒ but then she stopped abruptly.

"Wh‒ … _who is that?"_

_Black hair_. Juno didn't need to see her face to know the answer, to understand what had happened here‒ what had gone so horribly, terribly wrong. _She actually gasped_ , horrified at the revelation, and turned stormy eyes on her ex-protege.

"Betelgeuse," she gave his full and proper name, well aware that there would be no saying it to any real effect anymore. No, only his _wife_ held that privilege. "You _didn't._ "

Nothing the poltergeist did flew under her radar… _except for this_. According to Netherworld law, he wasn't her charge anymore, didn't have any obligations to them or their bureaucracy. No, he belonged solely to the unfortunate little girl snoozing in his coffin. Upon a closer examination, she was able to discern the dried tear tracks on the girl's cheeks, the scabbed over wounds on her shoulder… _the discarded lingerie on the ground_.

Betelgeuse was a bad man. His laundry list of crimes told her so but Juno had always thought that hurting little girls‒ much less one that he called his _wife_ ‒ was… beneath him. Apparently, nothing was too low for this cretin. The girl murmured low in her sleep, sounding pained. For the most part, it was incomprehensible gibberish, but three words were clear to both ancient sets of ears; _No. Stop. Please._

"Jesus Christ, Betel," Juno sneered, jumping quickly from horror to disgust once she had a clearer picture. _"What have you done?"_

* * *

"Havin' fun cleanin' up my mess, June? 'M proud of myself," he chuckled, crossing his arms with a smirk. He was pleased with himself, knowing that he had caused her an undoubtedly huge pile of work, and grinned as he looked at the slit-throated woman.

… but when she turned her attention to Lydia, his teeth bared. Just knowing that she had been in his intended's home, influenced the Maitlands, had him pissed off. Juno didn't deserve to be in his wife's presence. Hell, she didn't belong in his crypt. Fuck her, this was _his_ territory.

"Married her," he declared importantly, victoriously, nose high. " _She_ married _me_. Fuckin' deal done, consummated, all that shit. Th'fuck's it look like?"

Betelgeuse scoffed, sitting on the edge of the coffin near Lydia, one hand gently laid on her hip. When she murmured and flinched, he jerked his hand away. Nightmares. Another one of those human things he forgot about. He hoped it wasn't about him… but the sick feeling of doubt in his stomach would not be quelled by hope.

Juno's rage didn't faze him. He didn't care if she was pissed or not. She had no power over him with his marriage to Lydia. He shrugged one shoulder, still looking only at his wife and not the nasty coworker.

"Didn't hurt her, though. Wouldn't never hurt her, not unless she wanted it," he offered‒ even if that did feel like a lie when he looked at her back and the marks he left on her. "I like her a lot, June. _Really_ like her. First girl I been anywhere near havin' feelin's for," he explained with a shake of his head.

"What's it to you anyway- why you here?" Betelgeuse didn't care if he was snippy, he was still pissed from Lydia earlier, and wanted to curl up with his wife. Not arguing with some old hag from his desk job.

* * *

_Wouldn't ever hurt her, unless she wanted it._

"Right. And I'm sure those were tears of joy she was crying into your coffin. Bleeding. Half Naked. _Sure, Betel._ "

With a heavy sigh, completely ignoring the ghoul's possessive body language, Juno took a seat opposite him at the edge of the coffin, mirroring, a sympathetic frown aimed down at the fitfully sleeping girl. She was just a _baby_.

"I came here to drag you kicking and screaming to the Lost Souls Room to carry out your sentence." At his expectedly negative reaction, Juno waved him off dismissively, lighting a cigarette, gaze still locked on the girl child they both hovered over. "Didn't know _she_ was here. Didn't know what happened. My business here is done, but before I go, I'm going to tell you a story…"

Virtually no details of the caseworker's living life were privy to anyone in the Nether. Her history was as mysterious as her occupation‒ in part because talking about it made her feel weak. Embarrassed. Threw her back to a time when she was powerless.

"My husband was a _foul_ piece o' shit. Locked me in our basement without food or water for a whole week once while he had whores over to fuck in our bed. Hated me because I couldn't give him children. Divorce wasn't an option. You know. Neither was running away. I didn't have _anything_. It was all his. My Daddy died and left me everything he had in the world‒ which wasn't a lot to begin with‒ and I still didn't have the right to a single damn thing all because a cheap copper ring and a piece of paper told everyone else in the world that I _belonged_ to this man."

Her voice was steady and monotonous, almost desperately so. As if Juno feared that if she were to allow emotion in, it would be too much, and it would all come pouring out. Now was not the time or place.

"I wasn't allowed to wear nice, pretty things. He pawned all my late Mother's jewelry when I inherited it. Sold it for liquor and whores, even their wedding bands. There was this… this _really gorgeous_ silver necklace my mama kept with a tiny little ruby dangling in the center. It was the nicest thing our family ever owned. Said it was a gift from 'fairies', that she found it in the woods. She was a little _touched_ like that. Always promised it would be mine one day. Never did get to wear it."

Finally, those grim gray eyes drifted up from the sweet sleeping lamb to the wolfish husband, dark with the ghosts of her past.

"So I gave myself a necklace Edgar couldn't take away."

Standing, she took one last deep drag of her smoke before tossing the butt.

"Husbands should always be good to their wives, Betel, or else just not have them in the first place. I don't want to see this girl in my office. _Get your shit together._ "

With wisdom imparted, Juno dissipated with a puff of smoke, disinterested in whatever it was the poltergeist was going to tell her and himself to attempt to wash down the bad taste of her scolding.

* * *

Even if it pissed him off to have the bitch lecture him, he sat and listened to Juno. He knew nothing about her living experience, nor did he even _care_ all that much. But he knew she was going somewhere with it so he listened. Her words, monotonous and uncaring, held more than she let on. The knowledge of her going through that, hurting in that way, it made him feel something akin to sympathy for the hag. Not a lot, but enough that he squirmed under her harsh gaze and her painful story.

He couldn't stand the thought of being that kind of husband to Lydia, of her being able to tell a similar story to Juno's one day. Even thought he knew she was a strong girl, and very seriously doubted she would tread the path of suicide knowing what she knew now, there was a worm of doubt in his head. It made his stomach bubble with fear. Betelgeuse stared at his wife, his hand gently curled in her soft hair, and he felt something shift in him.

The poltergeist wasn't pissed anymore. He was almost guilty, feeling like a shit man. He only let himself deflate when Juno disappeared. Betelgeuse sighed as he melted into his snake form, curling around Lydia and squeezing his coils around the tiny girl.

"'M sorry, Lyds..."


	6. Chapter 6

Morning came. He was awake the moment she shifted against him. Half asleep, she was so soft and sweet in his grasp. Betelgeuse watched her squirm and shift, her nightgown rucking up creamy thighs to show off her cute cunt. He knew what she tasted like, had licked her slick up the night before and loved it…

Why not give his darling wife a treat?

He slid down her soft belly to her, cunt, lips brushing over her hot, swollen lips. He had ruined the poor girl, stretched her little holes wider than he had any right to. Betelgeuse kissed up her thighs and up to her cunt, long tongue running up the length of her sweet slit. He worked slow to get her opened around the slimy digit, the aphrodisiac in his spit leaking into her skin. The snake paused each time she moved and mewled, looking up at her to see if she was awake or not.

* * *

The worst kind of nightmares plagued Lydia as soon as her eyes closed for good. She dreamt of her previous life. No, not the one she shared with her father and Delia and Mr. and Mrs. Maitland. That life she still considered current‒ _hers_ despite her precarious situation. The life she dreamt of was the one she shared with her Mother.

It was bleak, and dark, and painful, much of it blacked out from her waking memory due to just how young she was‒ but not nearly enough. When Lydia corrected others that Delia was _not_ her mother, few lived who knew it to be a compliment. Mother wasn't particularly mean, not that Lydia could remember. She didn't hit her, and it was Lydia who got to keep the only bedroom in their tiny apartment while Mommy slept on the couch. There even existed hazy memories of the beautiful raven-haired woman singing husky Russian lullabies to her, lovingly, like a proper Mother.

But she was weak and flawed and sold both her daughter and herself to her vices. So many men took her in so many ways. Only now with the bearings and knowledge of a budding adult did she know _why_ ‒ so Mother could get her fix. She was too young to even know for sure if the images that sometimes filled her head when she slept were memories or horrific inventions bred of a twisted mind.

_Pain_. Awful, stabbing, wet, bloody pain. Pain that left her so scarred and damaged on the inside that she would never have children. In the waking realm, the phantom of it kept her poor sweating little body wracked with anguish, tossing and turning over his scales. That was the peak of her fit, tragic little cries filling the crypt. But then, like a calming storm, she eased, falling prone to the vaguely familiar shake of a rattle and hiss of a snake.

Suddenly, she wasn't being assaulted anymore. There wasn't any pain or hurt, just sweet quiet darkness. A beast had taken her, but it meant no harm, only niceness and affection. She didn't need to hear it speak to know, she just _knew_. She was safe and loved.

The raw flesh between her legs was still wet, but now in the darkness, something soft and cold and equally slimy was surging against it, joining its slick eagerly in a way she found she didn't mind at all. When Lydia came to fully, she already knew exactly where she was, who she was with, and what was happening. No need for hypnosis this time.

"Unngh!" The sound crawled harsh and luxurious up her dry throat as her eyes snapped open, honeyed orbs immediately falling on her husband.

"Betelgeuse," she huffed without thinking, neck snapping back a moment later when he lashed her clit with his forked tongue in warning. _"I'm sorry!"_

* * *

He growled softly when she spoke his name, a sharp lash of his tongue meeting her sensitive cunt. His lips wrapped around her clit and he sucked lightly at the bud, his coils shifting so she was cozy in his grasp. Betelgeuse's tongue pressed deep inside her, soothing her aches and little pains with the softness of the muscle. The forked tip pushed at her sweet spot, then slid out of her slit as he looked up at her.

"I'm the one that'ssssssorry," he murmured against her hip bone, then pressed himself between her legs again. She tasted so delicious, squirming perfectly against him… There was a moment in the poltergeist's mind where he realized she was addicting, his favorite type of drug. Betelgeuse kissed her clit lightly, making sure his fangs stayed far from her delicate skin. Such a lovely treat, he was so lucky.

The snake was intent on bringing her the most pleasure he could, on spoiling his little wife and treating her like the princess she was to him. Every squirm and mewling cry she let out made him sigh against her cunt and press deeper into her. He was eager to treat her good, to make her happy. When she came against his mouth the first time, Betelgeuse groaned into her. The taste had his eyes closing tightly, mouth curling in a wicked grin.

"Yer a fuckin' treat, Lydsss," he sighed against her thigh. As she calmed down from her first orgasm, he watched her with an adoring look in his eyes, pupils almost turning to hearts. "Love that look on your face… Pretty lil' thing."

He pressed a kiss to her thigh again, nipping the skin lightly.

* * *

Flustered and quaking from a rush of pleasure she wasn't expecting, wasn't ready for, Lydia _sang_ for him, voice raspy and freshly woken. He gave her a break then, not pushing for more though it was clear in the way he doted lovingly over her, licking his lips, that he was eager for seconds. Everything felt so hot but his scales were soothingly cool, and she felt safe enough slumping back against them once her muscles stopped pulsing.

"You're not…" she panted, struggling to catch her breath, lashes fluttering, "... _mad_ at me…?"

All things considered, that was probably a silly question but seemed necessary to the half-awake girl. Last Lydia remembered, he was yelling at her and calling her a nag and promising never to do anything nice for her ever again. Now he was buried between her thighs, calling her _pretty_ and making her blush like a virgin.

Restless as her sleep was, Lydia didn't feel so useless and rubbery today. She could actually sit up, her half-brushed, air-dried mop of black hair flurrying around her head and making that flush glow brighter. She was a _mess_.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Milky thighs squirmed together, still wet with saliva and her own cum, nimble fingers pulling the lace edge of her nightie down until she was covered just so. Her breath was quick, pulse still humming from post-orgasmic bliss. Even as she came down, she _ached_ for more. Sadly, she didn't have the words to say so or experience to recognize exactly what it was she wanted. The sore, ravaged state of her privates didn't aid in her hesitation.

"It was rude. I'll try to be better at… at _communicating_ with you."

* * *

"Not mad atcha, baby girl… It'sss all okay," he cooed, sucking lightly on her clit with a smile. "Sssweet girl… ssshoulda been nicer t'you. M'sssorry, Lydsss." He kissed over her thighs then up to her belly, making a soft hickey right on the soft spot above her womb. He rubbed his cheek gently against the small discoloration once it was established, a soft shake of his rattle sounding.

His coils slipped and slid, exposing the two slimy cocks beside her head. Stray hairs tickled the sensitive tips, making them jump and bump lightly against her cheek. He chuckled at her unhappy pout, kissing her cunt and slipping his tongue inside her once again. Betelgeuse's eyes stayed on his wife as she mouthed gently at his cocks, happily licking into her and lashing inside her cunt.

"Forgive ya for the sssnap, I promissse. Love my little wifey, love thisss pusssy too," he purred. His coils tightened around her body and pushed her closer to where he wanted her- even giving a soft massage with the way his muscles tensed.

* * *

Oh, this was _heavenly_. Her anxiety melted away with each masterful lick and suckle, trepidation fleeing while she melted over him, legs slipping wide open of her own volition to grant him better access. When the instruments he used to ravage her before made an appearance, she didn't even flinch or tense up. It only made sense to return his affections, to try and make him feel good too.

Without hesitation, she took hold of each one near the base of the pocket of scales they'd slipped out of, daringly slipping her little finger inside the pocket for a brief moment to test his reaction. Then, she was opening her cherry lips to be penetrated, slicking her other hand up and down the one she couldn't fit, pulling it close to rest between her small, soft breasts while she suckled dutifully.

He tasted _good_. Unnaturally so. Sweet and tangy, enough to make Lydia hum pleasantly while she went to work on him without a first or second thought of whether or not she should have been doing this at all.

* * *

She was so sweet to him, all gentle touches and tiny kisses. He adored it, adored her. The snake continued licking her up like a melting ice cream cone, enjoying the tenderness of the moment as he brought her pleasure. The exploratory finger in the soft cloaca that held his dicks was a welcome surprise, making his jerk and grunt.

Her gentle sucking was something new, usually his partners dove in eagerly and with gusto, but Lydia was such a delicate little thing. It was rather cute, if he was being honest. Betelgeuse hummed against her as she mouthed at him, curling his tongue up and pressing into her sweet spot.

* * *

His cocks were shaped differently than a human man's. The tip was pointed rather than blunt and flared, allowing her to accept them more easily and deeply in her tiny mouth, plump lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth. Still, even with all her sweet dedication and hard work, his silent prediction was correct in that she couldn't even swallow down half of one of them.

Frustrated with her inability, she switched it out with the one she'd been jerking and squeezing between her tits, its twin adding slick from her saliva to make an even easier glide in the valley if her soft chest. Her second orgasm was intense, and only spurred Lydia to suck him harder, let the speared tip of his alien cock breach the slim opening at the back of her throat while she choked her pleasure around him.

* * *

The effort Lydia showed in her work on him was something to be admired, even if she wasn't able to take as much as he _really_ wanted her to. Still, having her choke on one of his cocks… It had his heart thumping wildly and his pleasure skyrocketing. It was unfair how hot the little human was, but he appreciated it to no end.

Betelgeuse's lips curled into a grin as he tasted a drop of his own cum in her cunt when he pushed deep enough, testing the limits of her womb and grazing the forked tip of his tongue against the girl's cervix just for fun. His fangs glided over her, not drawing any blood, but just give her a jolt of pain so he could feel her squirm wildly against him. He loved when she thrashed and mewled and cried out, it made him crazy.

He was embarrassingly quick to cum, filling the human girl's throat and covering her pale tits with it as well. He groaned into her, eyes rolling back into his head.

* * *

The rush of cold, sweet cum down her throat was more than she could take. She choked and let him go, falling into a wet coughing fit as the twin cocks continued to twitch and pulse and squirt the remains of his release all over her pretty clean body and nightgown. Another bath was in order, but Lydia feared he wasn't ready to release her quite yet.

"Stop‒" she gasped in between coughs, trying her best to squirm her hips out of his gently squeezing coils and away from his overly passionate, monstrous kisses. She believed him when he looked at her so soft and sweet and apologized, told her she was "pretty." He didn't want to hurt her. He was trying to help. Fucking was just the only love language he seemed to speak. He would listen, if he could get past all that raw _hunger_.

"Please…?" She was a filthy panting mess with her slip soaked in cum and half torn, the rest of her barely better off‒ a toy that had been thoroughly enjoyed by its owner. "Can't _do_ anymore… Can't _take_ anymore… Need a break…"

* * *

Betelgeuse let out a rumbling purr of satisfaction, licking once more before he let Lydia go. His tongue crept back into his mouth and he gently tugged her nightgown off. Using the parts that weren't soaked in cum, he wiped her face and chest off before he shook his rattle once and a similar nightgown settled over her pale form. She was so darling to him… such a perfect little wife.

As she calmed down and he maneuvered the tiny girl the way he wanted so she was curled up safely in his coils. Betelgeuse's rattle began again in a slow, soothing rhythm meant to calm her even more. He rubbed his face against her tummy, placing a kiss onto the soft mound above her pussy.

"You did ssso good. My good girl. Darling lil' Lydia," he sighed against her tummy, looking up at the black haired girl with a lovestruck expression. Oh, how he adored her. Betelgeuse kissed his way up her body to her lips, pressing sweet kisses over Lydia's lips and face.

* * *

He cleaned and dressed her again in a matter of moments without Lydia having to do much of anything at all but just lay there, hummingbird heart beating against her chest. She felt like mush, like a pile of goo while he loved on her with kisses and scaly snuggles. She wasn't tired, though, having slept long and deep in his coils despite her fitful night terrors. No, not tired. Just weak.

It took effort to lace her arms around the neck of the beast, to let her baby soft lips meld plush and so wrong against his thin, coarse lips hiding a mouthful of razor sharp daggers. It was a monstrous mouth. He _did_ love her. At least, this part of him did. But weren't they one in the same? Lydia wasn't sure and wasn't too keen on him transforming back so she could find out.

She was loose like this, glowing from all their lovemaking‒ _if it could be called such a thing‒_ mind light and body heavy with the peace she found here. They continued to lock tongues, her little pink human one unable to do much more than wriggle and lick at his while it nested in her mouth and pushed back and down her throat. She didn't even gag, feeling much too loved and relaxed to worry and tense the wrong muscles.

* * *

Betelgeuse sighed into the girl's mouth, smiling against her lips with each kiss. He loved this, loved the simple intimacy of it all. She was so delicate and so sweet against him, always such a treat to be against. He wanted badly to turn into a man again, hold her tiny body in his arms, and kiss all over her. This snake shit was getting old, but if it meant that she was comfortable being around him, then so fucking be it. He could stand it for a while more, to make her happy. The tear tracks left on her face were glaring at him, and he rubbed his tail lightly against her cheek.

He pulled his mouth away and pressed his cheek to her head, a happy rattling noise sounding. Had he been a large cat he would have been purring for her, content and peaceful.

"Let ya go home when yer all better, Lyds. Getcha cool n' calm n' take ya back," he promised with a long yawn.

The giant snake shifted, coils moving and squeezing to hold her in a snug bundle within his grasp. That was when he conjured the weed, rolled in a fat joint. Without hands to hold it, he manipulated Lydia up to his eye level, her little hands braced against his body. He lit up, then nodded for her to hold the joint in her fingers as he breathed out a long sigh of smoke.

"S'good Netherworld weed… It'll getcha higher 'n a kite in no time," he said, a wide smile on his face.

* * *

Despite how smoothly he handled himself, it was not beyond her notice that he was going out of his way to perform humanoid tasks in a serpentine form in order to attend to her. It made her chest pang with guilt that obliterated any hesitation she might have had in taking the offered drugs. Nevermind that she had never consumed anything similar in her life, save the two drinks he bought her at the beach.

It made sense that he wanted to keep her there until the marks of his affection healed. Better to let her family think she was held hostage and unharmed for several days than any of the alternatives.

She put the cardboard tip in her mouth and sucked‒ too hard. A harsh coughing fit followed, paired with tearing and a heaviness in her chest and lungs. He held her through it tenderly until she was stable enough to try again more slowly.

"Woah…" She mumbled on the second exhale, blinking once the strange THC of the dead finally started showing its effects. Her eyelids felt heavy, but she was too entranced scrutinizing the predatory gaze of her husband to let them close. They were _so_ beautiful, like two baseball sized gemstones with perfect obsidian slits staring down at her. He was _divine_ like this…

But… she was being selfish. It wasn't right to let him go on coddling her at the expense of his own comfort. This was a beast meant for carnage, both of the physical and sexual nature. For her to continue using him like her own personal stuffed animal for something so mundane as cuddling was downright disrespectful.

It occurred to her that she had been staring at him for a long time, absently stroking his scales in admiration while thinking many unvoiced thoughts.

"You don't have to…" Rather than trying to put a word to it and ending up sounding silly, she gestured vaguely at all of him, dazed honey eyes making a sluggish trail over as much of him as she could sight from her vantage.

"I mean, I _like_ it. I do. _A lot_." A nervous giggle burst abruptly up her throat‒ _too loud, too flirty, like a groupie finally getting two minutes with the rockstar she worshipped‒_ and she flushed, swallowing it down. As if to punish herself for being so silly, she went on to quote him in self-derision and said, "I guess I really am a snake fucker."

As soon as she said it, she regretted it and immediately began mentally beating herself even harder. He only called her that in a moment of rage, and for her to repeat it now cheapened what they had done‒ something she saw as a beautiful experience regardless of his feelings on the matter.

"I'm just trying to say," she began again after taking a third frustrated hit of the joint she'd been holding up to his mouth seeing as he had no arms. "You don't have to do this for me. You can be yourself. I won't break."

She _probably_ wouldn't break, but they would never know if he always deferred to this obscure weakness of hers.

* * *

He laughed when she went too hard too fast, shushing her until she calmed. That was Lydia, jumping in head first and not looking back. He took the weed back, breathed in deep, and blew a cloud out through his nostrils.

While she watched him, he watched her.

The soft pale form under her nightgown, little tits moving with each breath she took. Those delicate hands and wrists‒ easily broken if he felt like it. And those eyes… Betelgeuse, the immortal sap, could get lost in them. The color reminded him of whiskey and honey, long lashes like spider legs. Maybe millipede legs, since there were so many.

Lydia's giggles sounded so foreign and feminine to his ears. The weed was hitting, making his head feel cotton stuffed and making things sound like he'd just been to a too loud concert. She admitted her affliction, the strange and unusual taste for reptiles. It was endearing, even if the name reminded him of their nasty fight.

"Sssnakesss're pretty great," he chuckled. Betelgeuse blew a thick cloud into her face. Slowly his body melted from scales to flesh, his upper body once again becoming human. He stayed serpentine below his hips and kept Lydia in the mass of coils, while his hands rested lightly on her tiny ankle and stole the joint back.

Betelgeuse sighed smokily and stuck his tongue out at her, showing off the fork still in it. His fingers massaged up her calf slowly, watching her reactions to see if she was okay with being like this with him.

"Ya may be a snake fucker, Lyds… But yer _my_ snake fucker," he purred with a wide grin.

* * *

With wide eyes, still quite unused to sights like this despite her set of ghostly parents and their antics, Lydia watched his half-transformation, a smile cracking when he flicked a still-forked tongue in her direction. A long rope of scales remained firmly circled around her hips, waist, and thighs, allowing her torso and arms to move about freely but still very much keeping the girl close for petting and snuggles.

Like now. His hand was big enough to circle her dainty ankle completely. Lydia burned up at the touch, warring emotions telling her to _run_ and also _stay still, trust, give him a chance_. She deferred to the latter, goosebumps rising up where his humanoid flesh trailed‒ the only physical sign that she was discomforted by this in any way.

It wasn't so bad. The way his beautiful scales melted into ugly, discolored flesh fascinated her, leading her to gingerly trail the tips of her fingers along where the contrasting surfaces met. The fat flesh on his belly was softer than the scales or the skin on his hands, and Lydia burned even hotter to learn that firsthand.

It looked as though they were about to be spending the next several days together. At least until Lydia no longer appeared as though she had been beaten and gangraped. Maybe they should take this time to get to know one another. But first...

"Uhm, B?"

He had been watching her the entire time she explored him, and she was embarrassed to realize that's what she'd been doing, lazily and mindlessly letting her tiny palm wander wherever it wanted to go while he was good and kept his hand on her leg. She was touching his chest now, little fingers tangled in a thatch of moldy green-blond chest hair.

"I'm hungry."

Unwise words for prey to utter to a predator.

* * *

Betelgeuse smiled as he watched her, let her explore him. Big daddy Chuck must have made her real scared of men, from how hesitant she was touching him. It only made sense to Betelgeuse to blame Chuck. Whether her father played a direct hand in her abuse was irrelevant. He was the man who owned Lydia before Betelgeuse claimed her, and any harm she incurred under their watch was their responsibility.

Even a soft hold on her ankle had the mortal girl's face twisting up, and he almost let go of the pale joint. But she needed to face her fears, face the fact that he _was_ a man, and he _wasn't_ going to harm her.

As he rubbed and massaged her calf, Betelgeuse blew out a long cloud of smoke. Lydia's fingers pressing into the swell of his gut had him smirking. She was bold in her THC high, good and groping in a way that would make his dick make an appearance if he hadn't already settled down. Tiny thumbs met his chest and he rumbled a purr at the slight brush against his nipples before she buried her hands in his chest hair.

"Yeah, thisss ssshit makesss ya get major munchiesss," he laughed. Well, more like he hacked‒ the laughter sounded as he huffed in another hit, the joint almost gone. He pressed it to Lydia's lips to let her puff away the last of it, and waved his free arm lazily. Another banquet of sweet treats, rich foods, and beetles appeared; this time they floated by slowly in order to let both the poltergeist and his bride to pick and choose what they wanted.

Each pick of Lydia's was under Betelgeuse's careful scrutiny, her delicate sensibilities showing in the light treats she picked. He pointed out his choices to her, picking up treats in his long claws and holding them up to her mouth for her to chew.

"Get that belly full, babesss. Wantcha t'be nice n' full,'' he purred as he held a little strawberry cake to her mouth, the icing smearing against her bottom lip.

* * *

"Stoned" was a foreign state of being for Lydia. She was highly agreeable, pleasantly mellow without being drowsy. Her mouth opened obediently for every treat he presented, and after a while, she was leaning against his fleshy torso just as easily as she embraced his scales.

The next several days were spent much like this. He didn't touch her intimately anymore past that good morning wake up call. Most of his time with her was spent wearing scales, but he did fall back into his human suit every once in a while whenever he needed to run around the hovel and do things.

Lydia trained herself to just not think about what was happening in the living realm. It was hard, but Betelgeuse kept her entertained. They cuddled and watched movies and ate entirely too much junk food. Definitely the most lowkey, unexciting honeymoon in history‒ excepting, of course, that it was the cursed honeymoon of a union between life and death and was taking place in the land of the dead, and let's not count out the giant serpent.

Bruises faded. The scratches on her back healed to nothing, as if she'd never been cut. Three little scars would be left behind on her shoulder from her where he bit too deeply, serving as a permanent reminder to the ghoul of her fragility and his vital responsibility in maintaining her.

"You can't keep me here forever."

They both knew she was healed and ready to go home. This was all just a show to keep her here longer. She spoke this to him bravely while he was wearing his human skin again, bustling in the kitchen to start a kettle heating up for tea she didn't ask for.

"I like you, and I like spending time with you, but I'm not stupid, Beej."

* * *

There was a certain bliss that came with having Lydia staying in his crypt, playing along with the happy honeymoon feeling that they had created in their short time together. Betelgeuse could even say that he was _happy_ , for the first time in a long time. It was strange and unusual, but entirely welcome.

He found pleasure and joy in providing for her, feeding her treats and smoking her up until she giggled and cuddled up to him without fear. When his marks on her began to fade- save for the bite mark that bound them‒ he felt an edge of need. A need to repossess her, to go into another fury of lust and cover that lily colored skin in purple and blue. But it faded when he was reminded of how beautiful she looked when untouched. A little doll‒ _his_ doll.

Her bravery when she spoke up caught Betelgeuse by surprise, a slight flinch showing and betraying his cool façade. He couldn't be mad at her for being assertive‒ that was her nature. Stubborn and level headed‒ that was his Lydia. _His_ Lydia. The poltergeist felt a surge of joy when he was reminded by himself that she was his. For now and forever, whether she was physically present in his crypt or not.

"Yeah, yeah, I know you ain't," he sighed. The kettle was off the heat and he turned around to look at her. Betelgeuse leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He wanted to pout, to yell, to throw a tantrum and make her stay. However, Lydia was right. She always seemed to be.

With a sigh, Betelgeuse waved his hand and her school uniform was back on her body. The ugly plaid covered up her creamy thighs and the blazer hid the swell of her tits‒ he forgot how much he hated it. There was a frumpy element, and it reminded him of the shapeless dresses from the Dark Ages. He sighed as he walked to her side, holding out a hand for her to take.

"C'mon then, Lyds. Let's getcha home before both ya parental sets get their panties in a twist," he chuckled as he pulled her close against himself. It was a blink and they were back in the human world, just outside the Deetz house, and he was vibrating with power. It felt _good_ to be freed, to have his feet on mortal soil, to be able to conjure anything he pleased. All thanks to the pale girl next to him, the one that could barely look at him when he stood before her as a man. Testing his powers again, Betelgeuse grabbed his wife's hand and popped them into her room with no effort, a rasping laugh sounding as he pumped his fists in the air.

"Babes! I have full powers thanks to ya. Could kiss ya," he laughed. She may have already known it but he wanted to remind her, to remind the world. Betelgeuse was back in full swing. "Say, think Daddy Chuck wants ta see me again? Should we get his blessin'!"

Betelgeuse wheezed another laugh, lounging on the girl's soft sheets. He didn't care too much that he was dirtying the purple and black blanket. He could tell she didn't particularly want him to stay, and sighed as he stood.

"Well, I'll leave ya be, Lyds. Got people to scare, shit to haunt. Call me if ya need me~"

The poltergeist kissed the top of her head, then her cheeks, before he disappeared, leaving her alone in her room.


End file.
